Dungeon Keeper - To the Stars
by Iskandr
Summary: The numerous human tribes of the Milky Way have lived the last ten thousand years under the yoke of the Goa'uld. Most think their lot bad. They do so, because they have yet to meet a Dungeon Keeper...
1. Prologue

**INTRODUCTION**

 **"Stargate" is the name of a franchise encompassing several long running TV series', inspired by the 1994 movie of the same name. The protagonists, mostly members of the US Air Force, travel in between the stars, fight aliens and uphold the American way of life.**

 **"Dungeon Keeper" on the other hand is the name of a video game franchise that takes place on a single unnamed world and chronicles the struggles of a demon on his way to world domination – who is aided by a wonderfully snarky narrator. To my knowledge there are two games that bear the name with dignity and there is one unofficial sequel by the name of "War for the Overworld", which isn't quite as good as the other two but is still a lot of fun.**

 **Both the first TV-Series and the first game** **came out in July of 1997, almost 20 years ago, with Stargate weathering the time much better than Dungeon Keeper, the recent try at revival not withstanding. It is maybe not a great surprise that no crossovers exist between these two – but it is a damn shame regardless and it leaves me to write the first...**

 **This story pits a slightly different Dungeon Keeper against the Jaffa, the Goa'uld, the Tau'ri and whoever else he can manage to annoy, blatantly ignoring the words of Richard Ridings:**

 **"Never eat anything bigger than your own head, Keeper."**

 **PROLOGUE**

There are a lot of misconceptions going around concerning Dungeon Keepers. Some call us demons. Most call us Evil. Some whisper about dark rituals. About favoured minions. About ascension.

None of that is true. You do not become a Dungeon Keeper any more than a dove becomes a star, or a planet becomes a water flea. You either are a Keeper, or you are not. We do not care about "Good" and "Evil" either. And we are no demons, although we make use of them from time to time.

Keepers are conquerors, plain and simple. Always have been, always will be, and we do what we will to achieve victory. From world to world we travel, to fight all in our path. To crush all opposition, and then move on to the next challenge. From the first time a sentient blinked, back at the dawn of creation, to the last breath of a dying universe, we will be there. We will be there when the stars go out, when the last planets are ground into dust. And when the last star faces extinction, we will be there, on that last world, waging one final war before the end. Some of us believe that he who wins that war will become the god of the next universe, it is as close to a religion as Dungeon Keepers get. Personally, I do not appreciate the mentality that comes with that believe. Or with "believe" itself. I do not need that incentive to stay alive. Nor do I aim to become a god. I am what I am. A Dungeon Keeper. I know what my place is in the universe and I do not seek to change it. All is right with the world.

Well, maybe not this world.

* * *

I arrived on this new plane like I usually did. A bright flash, a pause in perception. Then I could feel the beating of my heart again. Next my body materialized and I flexed my muscles. Force of habit.

Most have problems understanding the duality of Heart and Keeper, especially when one is standing next to the other. Do you change between the body and the overview? Do you "zoom in", into your body? Stupid questions, asked by limited beings. Limited concepts brought about by thinking so deeply rooted in convention their minds might as well be travelling on rails. Do they not have a heart themselves? Do they not have a body?

So does a Keeper. The Dungeon, the heart, the physical body, all are one. There is no point where one ends and the other begins, no need to switch, perceptions or whatever else. I see through my eyes when I walk the streets of men, I sense my dungeon, my minions, my domain at the same time. I most certainly do not "zoom".

My last conquest had been satisfactory. A world full of enemies, with abilities similar to my own. They had dug down to challenge me, to rout my forces before I could establish myself, and had continued to fight until the demise of their very last king. I was almost sad to see it all end. But as always, new conquests awaited, and so the ritual of translocation had brought me to this new place.

This time the transfer had seemed a bit more ragged than usual. It happened, I knew. And despite the sadness inherent of seeing a campaign end and then having to start again from scratch, I also had been looking forward to this. The first phase of a conquest was always the most exhilarating. When your power was at its lowest, when you had no minions to defend you, save a handful of Imps, when your Manapool was laughably small. You had to be careful. You had to be sneaky. You never knew what kind of a world destiny had dropped you in, after all. Once, I remembered, I had awoken after translocation, my heart chamber filled with water. Without any Trolls I could not hold back the tide with constructs, and with a dungeon filled with water, I could not attract any Trolls. Not even Imps at first. It had taken me years to modify the spell to create them, so they would spawn with fins and gills instead of lungs, mainly because I had never paid much heed to the water live. I had had no idea how fish even breathed up to that point. When I had finally gathered the resources to build a portal, and modified the process to even work under water, the count of drowned Imps must have been up there in the millions. And then I had attracted creatures I had never seen before. Waterbreathers. Sharks, fish people, mermaids, sirens. The universe was a wondrous place.

Here however things seemed more straight forward. Expand, explore, exploit. When I had gathered what I needed, a place for my first portal had already been chosen and a few hours later, the crystal pillars formed out of the thick solution. Only then had things gone from "business as usual" to "very, very weird".

The portal had ignited, so far so good. Between the four crystal pillars, the darkness had formed, then shot down to crack the bedrock and open the way for creatures to traverse. No doubt some of my more intrepid minions from my last conquest would come through among the first. The riches I left behind were always tempting and always meant that not much of my army remained, all of them going back to whatever place they hailed from, arms loaden with treasure. It was one of the reasons I liked to employ Dark elves. Their minds were skewed enough they took pleasure from combat situations, like others would from a drug high. Some of them always carried over.

But not this time. I had not awaited the first arrival. Instead I had gone back to expanding my dungeon. The usual shape for my capital took a long time to dig out and surveying the area was not always possible before your tunnel net had grown to a certain size. Not all places were suitable either. Once I had arrived next to a rift in between two tectonic plates, and had relocated my heart as soon as I possibly could. Water was one thing, but a chamber full of Magma was... unpleasant.

Again, the place here seemed usual enough. Dig outwards, scout ahead. Be careful, take your time. I needed the Mana and the metals anyway before I could do anything.

Then begin digging the circular hall around my heart. 500 meters wide, 80 meters high. Inner radius: 5 kilometres. The very base of my capital. Thousands of pillars would keep the hall from collapsing, the walls would serve as housing, while the large space itself would be both marketplace and road, assembly hall even and by the time it was completed, I usually had the materials and the Mana to build any room, so to satisfy any creature's desire.

Only one problem: None were forthcoming.

None. Even days after the portal had been established. The darkness wafted around peacefully in the pit, as if ready to please, only it didn't. I had the rooms. I had the requirements. Several times over by now. Even had the gold, having found a small vein by pure accident, not to mention the minute amounts one would acquire naturally just by sifting through thousands of cubic metres of bedrock. And still my dungeon remained populated by Imps alone.

This had never happened before, yet for the time being I remained calm. I was too old, too experienced to fall prey to panic. After a month and a half of no activity however, I decided to act.

More careful than ever before I began to make my way up, scouting the lower depths and the surface of the world. It was possible that this was not a coincidence. Maybe the natives were vary of my coming. Maybe they were blocking the portals somehow.

Another week later, that notion seemed very unlikely. There was nothing on the surface aside from trees and stones and the occasional sheep. So I expanded again. Slowly. Following my usual pattern for the first hundred miles or so, I established more and more citadels, cylindrical holes deep underground, a hundred meters high, the walls of which would house thousands of creatures. Industrial districts surrounded them, together with barracks, laboratories, armouries and pleasure districts. Never underestimate morale, especially not in a protracted campaign.

And still no creatures.

So I changed gear. Facing the very real possibility now, that I would have to face my enemies in person, I would need a lot of Mana. So I needed a lot of Mana Batteries. Those were expensive, bulky, and took time to make but I was in luck here as well. The new world featured trace elements of a metal I had never encountered before, that resonated with Magic an order of magnitude better than even platinum did. It would take awhile to amass enough of it for even a basic Mana Battery, but with the sheer amount of bedrock I was vaporising in the process of carving out my domain, I was bound to collect enough eventually...

* * *

 **It has to be said...**

 _While this is not the first story I have ever written, it is, in a way, the first of mine to be published. Certainly the first to be made available to this large a group of people._

 _I have chosen this one mainly because out of the lot, it seems to be the most original. If there is a Dungeon Keeper / Stargate crossover out there, I have yet to find it. I_ _think_ _this will take me to interesting places within the show's universe, places that I have not explored before, and I hope I will be able to make the journey enjoyable to you._


	2. Chapter 1 - 4X

**CHAPTER 1 - 4X**

After 3 months of constant exploring, expanding and exploiting, as well as a disturbing lack of exterminating, I was bored out of my skull. My vaults were filled to the brim with Gold, Silver and Platinum, the sheer amount of the lesser minerals I had found would enable me to equip legions of warriors with full weaponry and armour, if only I had someone to do the equipping. For now, bars of pure Iron, Aluminium, Cobalt, Chrome, Titanium, Vanadium, Manganese, Nickel, Copper, Lead and others lay alongside the glass Jars containing Quicksilver and the airtight containers filled with all kinds of reactive Elements, waiting for someone to do something with them while constantly my Imps found more and more of everything. Even the more ethereal metals that eroded all life they touched slowly found their way into my possession, isolated each in their own lead lined vaults, so as not to cause harm to my minions, should I ever find any.

In the last month alone I had come very close three times to calling it quits. Just pack up, screw this place and try again somewhere else. The ritual of translocation had brought me to this place and it would get me out of here just as well, this time to a world, hopefully, that wasn't as empty as a Goblin's head.

But three times I had fought the notion down, taking the experience as a lesson in patience instead. The reason for this was mainly that the situation was so utterly alien to me.

This had never happened before. Wherever the ritual had taken me in the past, as far back as I could remember, there had been something or someone for me to conquer, be it sentient slugs, porcupine apes, hyper aggressive plants or, in one case, a singular, world encompassing organism. Now that had been a challenge.

Which meant there had to be something here. I just had to find it.

In the meantime I was busying myself playing around with the new mineral my Imps kept finding. It was everywhere on this world, but in so minute quantities that any way of mining other than the "Keeper Method" would probably have overlooked it. As the little bead eyed monsters kept pulverizing the bedrock, any element of my choosing mysticized, swirling into my heart as green dust, to eventually be converted into minute amounts of Mana, while the rest condensed in their backpacks in bars or pellets, to be stored in the vaults. Earlier this month I had found several smaller veins of the new stuff, heavily localized and close to the surface, leading me to theorize they had fallen from the sky. It might as well have, as the material was utterly alien to say the least. One of the heaviest metals I had ever encountered, and yet stable, it served as an energy sink for any and all forms of power I had tested it with. It made for supreme lighting rod material too, not that I cared all that much. Instead, I did my best in trying to adapt my existing designs for Mana Batteries to the new material. The storage ability of such a device would be phenomenal. Although considering how much silver I had by now, I should probably have gone and used that instead…..

My Imps had stopped following my usual pattern of building citadels underground every here and there. In fact, by now I had abandoned the practice of building anything all together. Instead, the majority my of workforce was kept busy by expanding my awareness the best way I knew of. They kept tunnelling outwards in straight lines, several kilometres long, which would then end in a T-junction and serve as the basis for a new ring around my Dungeon Heart. The ring would spawn new straight tunnels, which would end in another ring, and so on, and so on, like the ever growing net of a spider, creeping along 500 metres below the surface and expanding my consciousness across the continent. I could see whatever went on above or below that net without much trouble and I was bound to find something this way eventually.

Four of my little miners however had a more permanent assignment. They were digging in straight lines, forming the longest and most tactically unsound tunnels ever created by a Keeper, going in the four cardinal directions North, East, West and South. While the net thing would eventually work, if I didn't die of boredom before, my hope really lay with these four.

After four months on this new world, that hope was finally rewarded.

* * *

The great continent the translocation ritual had landed me in sharpened into a rather sharp point to the east of my heart. The detection net had reached the ocean already on both sides, and both the northern and eastern long range Imp had been making their way along the coast racing ahead of it, hopefully to find a land bridge of some sort. They would, eventually, but before that the northern one ran into the largest Vein of the new material, I had dubbed it "Manastone" by now, I had yet encountered, a vein several Imps high containing more than 15 parts Manastone out of a hundred. This alone was enough to pique my interest and I dispatched a sizeable mining force immediately. But as the two explorers continued on their way, the density petered out again. So I sent a couple more to scout the area for better veins. Following the increasing amount of Manastone, I unknowingly made my way towards my prey.

* * *

"Humans! Now that is a welcome sight!"

Humans were always fun. Adaptive, reasonably hard to kill, sometimes even inventive. Predominantly they were very much like sheep, following whoever bleated the loudest in masses, but the guys they followed made up for this more often than not. It was as if the charisma of the species naturally concentrated in a chosen few.

Only problem was, these ones didn't look like much of a challenge.

The mining party had found more Manastone, sure enough, and right in the middle of the area with the highest grade ore, they had found several small settlements surrounding a larger city. The settlements were all mining towns, apparently, and the large smoke columns rising up from the city suggested the presence of a lot of smelters in the city. I had no idea what they fired those smelters with, or how they would even get them hot enough to melt the material, but they apparently did. There was a singular road leading away from the city, which attracted my attention immediately, and every second day a small caravan of three ox driven carts would set out from the city along that road. Ready camp sites in regular intervals suggested this to be a long honoured practice, so I ambushed one of the caravans during the night, waiting for midnight before I cast a sleeping spell on them, just to be sure, then I popped up to the surface for a quick personal visit. Their bars of Manastone were nowhere near as pure as the ones my Imps produced, but they were processed, alright. I was practically giddy at this point. Whatever they needed this much Manastone for I had no idea, or rather, I had too many ideas. There could be an advanced magical society hiding just behind the horizon, quite literally. This was reasonably far away from my heart and apparently on the outskirts of whatever empire this was, so a nice opportunity to experiment. It was finally time to get to work.

* * *

 **8 days later. Jaffa garrison of Bahal, office of the Garrison Commander**

"Tell me again. From the beginning."

"From the…." A scornful look from his superior silenced the younger Jaffa mid sentence.

"Begin with the attack on the first night."

"Yes, Master." The younger man sighed and Master Do'Urden sat back in his chair, fingers crossed, elbows on the armrests. He really had to commend his second for this fine piece of craftsmanship. He wondered where the man had gotten it…

"I was not part of the late watch the night it happened, but I woke soon enough, when the central square sunk into the ground along one of the refineries. I could not see it of course. By the time I reached a window, the wind had blown the dust almost half the way to the garrison."

That was a particularly unconvenient detail of the whole affair. Lady Arihes was on planet, inspecting the various Naquadah refining shrines the gods had set up. Or had been on the planet. It wasn't exactly the nature of the gods to work until after sundown, understandable, Do'Urden thought, considering who her peers were, but on this rare occasion where one did, in that remote mining town, the one refinery she was currently visiting just happened to collapse into the ground. He found that rather suspicious. They were at peace with Aker though, were they not?

"..I did not see battle that first night however…." The younger man paused in his tale. He sounded almost apologetic.

"I assume you talked to some who did, though?"

"Yes, Master. They told me about the demon."

"And the following day you fought that…. demon… yourself?"

"Yes, Master."

"Tell me."

"He appeared out of nowhere. Not in a flash of light, like with the rings, he simply came at us. His hands were burning and he threw balls of fire and bolts of lightning at us. They were unlike the magic of the gods master. The men who were hit by the fire actually burst into flames. I have never heard such screams…."

"Describe him to me."

"He was the tallest... man... I have ever seen. Yellow skin. Glowing eyes I think but I am not sure. The first night he was wearing something that looked like banded armour without a helmet, but that changed the next few times I saw him. The one time I saw him up close he was tearing a man's throat out with his teeth and I swear upon the sun they were as long as my fingers." He held his hand up here, doing something with his fingers to illustrate his point, but Do'Urden didn't look.

"You also found armour with claw marks, did you not?"

"They say they did, Master, but I never saw it myself. It might be a rumour."

Yeah, that was another problem. Good idea on the part of the Master in charge at the time, keeping the more disturbing things under wrap, but unfortunately for Do'Urden, this young pup was the highest ranking survivor and not knowing stuff made his own job that much harder…..

"You said you shot him several times, yes?"

"Yes, Master. The Demon is resilient, but on the third night I am sure I was the one to land the killing blow."

"Exploding his head in the process, yes, I remember." The constant reminder was at this point getting rather annoying.

"Not my point anyway. You fought him several times and survived. He changed his armour, you say? Change how?"

"I don't know what he wore the first time, Master, but every time I saw him it seemed bigger. Bulkier. Thicker. He must be incredibly strong."

The gods never bothered with armour. There was of course the rumour that Horus himself fought alongside his troops, but even he probably wore that invisible shield Do'Urden had heard about instead. This one was different. Trying to match the magic of the gods with metal, was he…

"So he had no defence against your weapons, then..."

"His armour didn't do him much good, Master. But he didn't seem to need it all that much. When my patrol encountered him that second night, we hit him with a full barrage. He went down, but then he came at us again, and I saw his flesh through the holes. It was unmarred."

Which didn't necessarily mean he was invulnerable. Why would he go down in the first place if he was? Why wear armour if he was?

"Five nights of combat. Four times you killed him. Maybe five, once more after you were sent away. We will likely never know. Are you certain it was the same man?"

"As certain as I can be, Master. The little demons he commanded looked all the same to me, but the demon himself… Yes, I think I recognized him. But that was no man. He was like a creature out of the legends."

Do'Urden raised one hand to forestall a possible expansion on the topic. He had heard it half a dozen times from half a dozen men, all survivors of the fight. An Unas, a demon sent by Sokar, Anubis' first Prime himself, there were as many theories as there were surviving Jaffa. Not all of the men were quite as honourable as this one, who had been sent on horseback to warn Bahal with a three man escort. Two more Jaffa had been picked up by the Death Glider flight Do'Urden had sent to check on Ileth the day after. All six had seen combat, all had given him valuable intel, but the last two would be executed the coming dawn for deserting their post. Facing an unkillable demon, or rather, one that returned from death every night, was no excuse to abandon your brothers in arms.

"So, either we are facing a malevolent minor god, or simply an army of brothers. Very well. You can go. Be assured, your service will be rewarded."

"The only reward I ask for is to be part of whatever answer you have for this heresy, Master!"

"As you should."

They both bowed, then the younger Jaffa left Do'Urden alone with his thoughts. The Jaffa Master closed his eyes to organize his thoughts. 8 days ago this whole mess had begun in the town of Ileth. Nightly attacks on the outermost mining town under his purview. It had lasted four, possibly five nights, because when he had received word of it three days ago and sent a flight of gliders to support the garrison, it had all been over. Someone had fired at the gliders. Staff weapons in some of the higher buildings. The pilots had not seen their attackers but pulverized them regardless. Which could mean turncoats. But it was more likely their enemy had simply scavenged the weapons.

He was also worried by the fact that the city had been empty. The Jaffa might have fallen, the two cowards excluded, but what about the human slaves? Between the city and the surrounding mining posts, there had to have been almost two thousand of them there, men, women and children. He knew that, because as chief magistrate as well as Garrison commander, the food requisition forms went over his desk as well. Yet the only living souls the pilots had found were two Jaffa who had been too terrified to even speak at first. No escaped slaves, no families on the run, even the cages at the mines had been empty. So not only was he short 114 Jaffa and one minor God in the service of his Lord, but also thousands of human slaves.

Where had all the people gone?

Suddenly his thoughts were cut short as his desk began to shake. A second later, he heard an almighty rumble and the rest of his office joined in.

Sun above….

* * *

Collapsing the ground under someone was maybe a little bit of a cheap tactic, but it was always a fun one. Seriously though, what were these people, these Jaffa, thinking? Why would they not have underground fortifications? No scrying posts either, it seemed, the Imps had not been contested in their careful probes, had apparently not been observed as they tunnelled under the villages, the mining post and now this city, had seen no opposition whatsoever as they hollowed out large parts of the city's underground and prepared assault tunnels. As far as I was concerned, this was grossly negligent to a ridiculous degree….

Well, no matter, there was work to be done and I was itching to try out one of these fun little staffs. Getting hit with them had hurt like a bitch and that one time? I could not remember in all my years a time were I had lost consciousness so abruptly. Even a crossbow bolt to the forehead wouldn't have been able to oneshot me like one of these little beauties had. And I just loved the close combat potential. Might customize this one later maybe, assuming I survived the night without blacking out again. Add a blade at the hind end, probably.

I sent in the combat Imps first, once the rumbling had ceased, then strode in behind them, humming a tune. Four months of nothing and another two of preparing this – and it was already worth it.

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 **It has to be said…**

 ** _Language –_** _I am going to confirm to the usual Stargate convention that all aliens speak English and only ever use words of another language to make a point. I could of course handwave it with "Keeper skills", but what would be the point…_

 **Digging speed –** _Modern mining drills are huge machines that measure their speed in meters per day, I kid you not. Going by this, a four month journey would allow our intrepid Dungeon Keeper to create a tunnel of two or three hundred_ _meters in length. Now the Imps in the game are quite a bit faster than this, excavating what looks like four square meters in about a second (make that 170 kilometres a day, which would take them halfway around the planet in four months and is a bit unrealistic. There are people that walk slower. Quite a lot of people actually.). I am nerfing the Dungeon Keeper somewhat by reducing the speed of his Imps to about 1 metre per minute, putting the mining town at maybe 150 km distance from his heart. Now that might make all his complaints earlier seem like he is whining, but you have to keep into account how grave a threat to a world a Dungeon Keeper actually is. Not to a village or a country, but to an entire world once he gets going in earnest. Even at this reduced speed, if one of those chaps appeared on earth tomorrow, I would not bet on mankind regarding the outcome. That is still 1000 times our digging speed, achieved by some ugly blokes with picks no less who can be summoned with a thought – versus the high tech machines we need, machines that are easily disabled and almost impossible to replace. You need the resources of a densely populated world to fight one of those guys, hence him being a little annoyed when all he found was a whole lot of nothing._

 **Just in case** _anyone is wondering, no this will not turn into a D &D crossover. I am just notoriously bad at making up names and I have a soft spot for a certain Drow._

 **Ari-Hes-Nefer** _– Egyptian tutelary god, sometimes touted as a consort to Isis. By all accounts, a third rater – does not appear in Stargate canon._

 **Aker** _– Egyptian god of the earth, among other things – does not appear in Stargate canon._

" **to mysticize" –** _is not a word. In context of this story, however, it describes the process of turning solid matter into a green, dust like non-substance, as opposed to "to vaporize", which wouldn't be accurate here. Usually happens when you bash anything solid with an Imp-Pick._ _The dug out matrial has to go somewhere, after all..._


	3. Chapter 2 - Victory

**CHAPTER 2 - Victory**

Jaffa Master Do'Urden had served as the magistrate for the mining world of Bahal for almost fifty years by now. He had not neglected his daily training, far from it, but this night demonstrated to him once more how much he delighted in not having to take to the field of battle in person any more. Sure, he had a lot of Jaffa under his command, three entire Legions in fact, and nominally speaking, he was still fighting for his Lord and God. But the vast majority of Jaffa on this world were only stationed here to discourage invasion – both here and elsewhere – not actually fight it off on their home turf. There was a lot of Naquadah in the ground, on this continent at least. With three Legions encamped all around the city which held the Chappa'ai, any attempt to seize it would be short lived, while the warriors could also be swiftly dispatched to any other fringeworld – just in case the neighbours got a little antsy. Neighbours who knew about this and thus nobody had actually tried, not in living memory. After his second decade here, he had begun to enjoy the mostly clerical duties of his office. They had come with a comfortable office, a large house, plenty of slaves for him and his family. He had even been blessed with an all seeing eye, a communication stone the size of his fist. It looked like a rather huge pearl and though it rested, most of the time, in a shrine in his office, he had always revelled in the fact that he was one of maybe a handful of Jaffa Masters that could boast of such an honour.

And now this…..

After fifty years, he was once again knee deep in blood. Surrounded by screams and explosions, by collapsing towers and burning buildings. And to top it all off, it was his city that was burning.

"Master Do'Urden, runner from the east district. The Axe Demons are herding the slaves away." He nodded at the young Jaffa whose name he didn't know.

"Send him back with this: They are to continue the manoeuvre. If they can do that and still cut down the demons, they are welcome to retrieve the slaves, but our first priority is containment." The young man repeated the message, bowed, then left.

That was one thing the survivors hadn't reported, but it certainly fit the bill. Where else could the slaves have gone but into whatever infernal underworld had spawned these creatures. He couldn't care less, humans bred like rabbits anyway. He was more concerned about possible Jaffa prisoners that might also be down there, at the bottom of that pit they had dug in the middle of his city – and of course, seeing how they had not yet found Lady Arihes, there might also be one captive, very pissed off minor god down there.

The name for their attackers, "Axe Demons", had come out of nowhere and had stuck immediately. The ugly little blighters with their war axes were less than half the height of a Jaffa, wore heavy armour that mainly covered their shoulders and upper chest, and reinforced, open helmets. Sensible. You could only strike at them from above anyway and while the shoulder plates would prevent them from using overhead strikes themselves, they seemed to prefer going for ankles and knees anyway. Already Do'Urden had seen a dozen Jaffa that would never walk again, miracles not withstanding.

According to what he could tell, they were trying the same tactic they had used on Ileth. Appear in the middle of the night by collapsing part of the city, however on Netu they had done that, then spread out from the crater and wear down the garrison by means of attrition. He had seen one warband himself so far. They were small, they were fast they were fearless and while they fought like absolute amateurs, their numbers seemed to be without end. Fifteen had charged his retinue, two had made it to the firing line, only one had managed to bring his blade to bear. But then, out of a nearby building, had come another fifteen, who must have been lying in wait. To those he had lost three warriors before they could be cut down. As his warriors advanced through the city, more and more reported constant engagements as they went. This all seemed very similar to the reports he had been hearing all day indeed.

Thus Do'Urden had decided on containment first, fighting later. The city Garrison had spread out in two directions, like a reverse wedge and had begun to encroach on the giant hole that seemed to be the source of the demons, with two flights of gliders for fire support. He had urged the pilots to not go overboard, however. He wanted to retake the city, not burn it to the ground, and those fly boys tended to get a little trigger happy...

Once they held the edge, they would encircle the hole, sweep the city for any leftover demons, then press forward, down into the depths, to strike at the root of the problem. And if that yellow demon was indeed down there somewhere, they would then put his so called immortality to the test.

"Master, Falcon flight reports, they believe they have sighted the Yellow Demon."

What do you know. Speak of the… well, devil….

"Is it really him?"

"The pilots say he wields a staff weapon and commands a swarm of Axe Demons."

Safe bet then. "Where?"

"Third district, Master, three streets away from the armoury."

Do'Urden smiled. That would be a rather short incarnation then.

* * *

I watched with glee as another hit from my pilfered staff sent yet another Jaffa spinning. I had learned from the previous engagements of course. Jaffa always operated in teams of 6 or greater. They liked to form firing lines and shoot in volleys. I had also tested their fire staff on my firing range extensively. Hitting something man sized at more than 70 metres was all but impossible if It moved, but in the close quarters of a city fight that wouldn't be a problem. Neither for me, nor for them, of course. And the blast was really quite powerful. I had learned first hand what it felt like getting hit with one of those. Provided it didn't fling you all over the place, it still disoriented you long enough for the other five in the squad to take aim and once they managed to do that it was quite simply over. On the fourth night in Ileth one squad had been particularly inventive. Instead of volleying their staffs, they had fired at me in sequence and bounced me around for a good minute before my healing factor finally couldn't keep up with the trauma anymore. When I had wrapped it up the next night, I had gone through all the captives to find three of those six still kicking. They were alive still, and would remain so for quite a while, although they probably wished they had perished by now.

I ducked behind a corner, then conjured an illusion to draw their fire and while they were shooting at my shadow, I took careful aim, then squeezed with my thumb. Seeing my target's right arm fly away in one direction and the rest of him in another after I hit him in the shoulder brought a grin to my face. This was strangely cathartic. A lot less strenuous than a bow, higher rate of fire than a crossbow. Just as destructive as spell casting, but nowhere near as mentally taxing. Just point and press the button. And as the remaining four turned to return the favour I directed a mob of combat Imps into their backs, then left my cover just in time to see them hack the Jaffa to pieces.

My losses were already horrendous, easily 8 Imps for every Jaffa taken out, and the ratio kept climbing. There were a lot more Jaffa in this city then there had been in the last, and they tended to stick together now. But I had learned here as well. Combat Imps were created through a variation of the normal "Create Imp" spell, which gave them armour and replaced their pick with a similarly enchanted battleaxe that would cut through almost anything, but was in turn very, very bad at digging. That was pretty much the only alteration I had made to the spell though, hence they still pretty much behaved like normal Imps, and were thus pretty awful fighters. I had just never seen a reason to develop the spell any further. Why bother?

So instead, every swarm of combat Imps had one or two normal ones attached to them, allowing them to move not only through the streets, but through walls as well, which had worked in my favour quite well so far.

Then I heard the screeching of another of those flying machines as it passed overhead. I had seen what they could do to unmoving towers and had no desire to test how good they were at hitting a moving target, so I made for the nearest alley. And not too soon. Behind me, my current Imp swarm exploded in yellow fire as the screeching intensified. No matter. The new Mana Batteries were still a long way off, but I had created enough common ones by now that I could keep summoning Imps all night. I liked their "Naquadah" a lot better than my "Manastone" though. Had a certain ring to it….

I turned left at the next junction, on behalf of there being movement in the air on the right, then right again to avoid a rather large concentration of Jaffa two blocks ahead. By now a freshly summoned Imp swarm had caught up, and I strode along the road rather confidently again, when I suddenly heard a by now very familiar shout.

"Jaffa! Kree!"

A second later it became painfully obvious I had walked into a trap, when two dozen Jaffa appeared in windows, doors and from alleyways. And they had something new with them, too. 4 little groups, 3 Jaffa each, were each manhandling something into position that looked remarkably familiar.

"Oh! Are those larger versions of the fire staffs?"

I saw one particularly smug looking Jaffa raise his hand, then there was a very loud sound, a very bright light – and the next thing I knew I was in my heart chamber again. Damnit!

* * *

 **Next day, around midday, Garrison of Bahal**

Do'Urden looked down from the roof of the garrison on what was left of his city and sighed. He was sitting on the slanted roof, his staff leaning against his shoulder, his elbows resting on his knees, as he reviewed the damage the fight had done, visible in all its glory now.

Repeated passes of Death Gliders had cleared the air above Bahal again. At first, the pilots had been wary of the order, low passes to them sounded like a good way to get shot. But no one had taken the opportunity and so they had taken to cloud duty with enthusiasm eventually. Less enthusiasm than the slaves had shown while they tried saving their houses from the fires, but still...

The fires had all been put out by now, that was something at least. The barracks sickbay was full, so full in fact that they had to branch the warriors out into their own rooms. Not that big of a deal, really. The Axe Demons hadn't left all that many in critical condition, those that had only been wounded were the result of singular Jaffa missing their shots when a swarm charged them, then missing a meelee attack when the demons got close, resulting in one very nasty axe wound, usually in one leg. If a line got overwhelmed, things were very different, so far they had not found any survivors wherever that had happened. The Axe Demons were lousy fighters, and apparently sought to make up for it through voracity. In some cases the quickest way of counting the dead had been to count the staff weapons instead. Do'Urden shuddered. It had been awhile since he had seen such savagery.

Of his three thousand Jaffa, 150 were wounded as such, 110 of those would never walk again, the sun's blessing to the rest, and 200 more were with the gods now.

200! 350 casualties in a single night, sun above... and yet that wasn't the worst of it. Lady Arihes was still missing, and of course the damn Chappa'ai, which had stood in the central square, was now buried in rubble down at the bottom of that blasted hole! He had put the slaves to work as soon as all the Axe Demons had spontaneously exploded all over the city, an occurrence that signalled the fall of their master, as he knew from the reports of Ileth's Jaffa.

Do'Urden furrowed his brows. He was basing his entire strategy on those reports, and it rubbed him the wrong way. They were under attack by an enemy he had never faced before, worse, an enemy he had never heard of before. His second in command, Ullach of Hebron, had all but confirmed both the description and the toughness of the yellow demon. The creature had been almost two meters tall, armoured, yellow skinned, although Ullach had used the word "scaled" – and remarkably, had still been in recognizable pieces after Ullach's Jaffa had hit him with a full 4 staff cannon volley. A Jaffa or a human would have been paste on the next wall. Still, they knew far too little about this enemy.

He had reported all that they knew, and the absence of Lady Arihes via the eye to Lord Gheb, who ruled all rimward fringeworlds in the name of Ra. After a lot of shouting, his orders were now what he could have guessed beforehand: Get the Stargate operational again, free Lady Arihes and crucify this intruder. Whether Lord Gheb had confidence in his leadership or in the sheer numbers under his command, Do'Urden had no clue, but there was this slight nagging in his skull. The voice of doubt, he recognized it from his formative years, which told him that if the Chappa'ai had been operational, his head might be sitting on a spike right now and Ullach would be magistrate...

Do'Urden looked at the oxen being chained to the ring of the gods which had finally been found an hour ago. The slope was rather steep and the ring rather heavy, never mind still half buried, but they did have a lot of oxen. Hopefully they would at least get it out of the hole before sundown. Then he could defeat the next attack, which would come sometime this night and erect the Ring somewhere outside the gates first thing tomorrow. With a victory to report that would be the better time to reestablish contact.

Technically, last night had been a victory too, of course. They had driven the demons back, the city was still his. But with Ileth lost, a giant crater in the middle of Bahal and the Chappa'ai buried, thus cutting the world off from the rest of his Lord's realm he could understand why Lord Gheb didn't really see it that way. Well, no use brooding up here. He could see the work teams and he could see some of his warriors down there, but they all looked like ants from up high. And of course he couldn't see those who had ventured into the tunnels at all...

* * *

"Master. Tek'ma'te!"

"Ullach. What are you still doing down here? I ordered you to get some hours of sleep. By all accounts it will be another long night."

"Forgiveness, Master, I meant no disrespect. I have handed over the reigns to my second an hour ago. I was just…. Hoping to hold out a bit longer, so I could bring you some good news after all."

Do'Urdens face sank. He had half expected it…

"Well then, out with it, Jaffa! What news do you have for me?"

Ullach turned around to point out the entry points into the tunnel system. They were easy to spot, with guards stationed at every one.

"The tunnels are…. difficult to traverse. They are devoid of activity so far, but I doubt we will get anywhere before sunset..."

"Difficult how?"

"They are hewn into the bedrock. Quite crudely it seems. The walls are uneven, the ceiling is barrel shaped, if barely. They are also….. very narrow…. And not very high."

As Do'Urden raised an eyebrow, Ullach held his hands a meter apart, then held his left hand out horizontally – at about belly height. The magistrate couldn't help but groan at the sight. He should have known. In hindsight, he really should have expected it. Why would the Axe Demons burrow here all the way from whence they came and provide the Jaffa with nice, large tunnels to follow them back to their lairs? A tunnel this high on the other hand would give the diminutive creatures room enough to stand up straight in, but would force a Jaffa to crouch, greatly slowing any attempt at counter attack.

But hold on a second.

"How many exit tunnels have you found?"

"Eight, Master. They lead away from the crater in a star pattern. An outer ring joins them together."

"That is not a lot. And those are all as small as you described?" Ullach nodded. How the hell did they squeeze an entire army through those tunnels? And how did they carry away all the earth they excavated through these?

"We have found a number of rooms a little further out. Those were much bigger, higher for once, and didn't look nearly as crude. I suspect there is a network beneath our feet, but I would need more time to fully map it. One more thing though, Master."

"Hm?"

"The floor, Master. Both in the tunnels and in the larger rooms. It looks… gorgeous. A finely chiselled pattern, embedded in an obsidian plate, inlaid with lighter materials. It repeats in varying means and colours, appears in different sizes, paints patterns of its own. Especially in the big rooms, it is really quite a sight to see..."

"I dread your conclusion to this, Ullach… Out with it! What is your point?"

"I have rarely seen such artwork, Master. It must have taken very long to set up. I do not understand why one would put so much work into a forward base, but this has to be the work of many months. And who knows how long the tunnels are. The demons have been among us for a while…."

* * *

 **Heart of the Dungeon, the moment of sunset...**

I stepped away from the Dungeon Heart and blinked a few times. That had been rather bright.

Then I summoned a new Imp, cast "Possession" and once I was inside the creature, made haste to reach the more than three hundred kilometre distant city I was besieging. For the fifth time since I had started this campaign! By now the voyage was getting rather boring, maybe it was time to begin taking this seriously.

While I raced towards conquest, I surveyed what had happened in the meantime. Felt through my dungeon, scryed outside for additional information. When the Jaffa had knocked me out, it had still been several hours before dawn, and now it was of course the next evening. Which meant while I had been out cold the Jaffa had had more than half a day to fortify, to repair, to organize, and it would be several hours still before I could personally reach the city again. Maybe they had even tried to strike back. With the manpower the city had it was certainly possible.

The only good thing about the additional delay of this journey on Imp foot was that it would give me time to regain some of the Mana I had spent the other night. When my consciousness had flickered out, all the Imps had died – again – and while my reserves were still substantial one could never have too much Mana. I summoned more and more Imps while I ran, mostly workers for now, to get my mining operations under way again and to resume the expansion of the dungeon. Definitely time to get serious. I had easily lost hundreds of workers last night. Setting this up yet again and telling them what to do – yet again – was getting tedious.

Next up was intel gathering. Carefully I scryed further out, first along the edges of the city, still wary of possible countermeasures. Surely, now that they knew they were under attack, someone would break out the feedback spells. How likely was it that there was not a single warlock in that city? Oh, that reminded me. Aside from the road that had led me to it there were two more roads leading to that big city, or rather, away from it towards smaller satellites. Both had a tunnel underneath by now and Imps digging along. I had almost forgotten to resummon those.

No, still no anti-scrying spells. How very unusual. The Jaffa had taken up position on top of the ridge, just like their comrades in Ileth had. I could see wooden palisades being erected, which of course wouldn't really do much, and I could see more of those big staff weapons, surrounded by – what was that? Sacks filled with… Sand. Interesting idea. Certainly better than bricks. Just as good at lightning deflection and yet they wouldn't shatter and shower the gunners with shrapnel, if struck by something more… explosive. I had to remember this..

What else?

The crater itself looked markably different, didn't it? A track of long, cylindrical depressions led from a large pile of rubble, down in the crater, up all the way to the top of the slope. As if something very heavy had pressed something else into the ground. I knew these kind of marks. It was typically a way of transporting something very heavy that didn't require building a cart for it. Just drop some wooden beams in front, push or pull whatever "it" was along, then drop some more wooden beams. I had seen a lot of oxen in the city, certainly, but what had they….?

I followed the tracks as they changed when entering the city proper. The roads were paved here but caravans such as this usually changed a place. The left a lot of dirt behind and they needed a lot of space, so stuff that had to be moved away in from them usually ended up nearby instead. Ah, there. That ring sculpture maybe? It sat just outside the city gates, flat on the ground, with a large pen full of the horned pack animals nearby. This was perplexing…..

I focused some more of my power on the ring. It was heavy, made mostly from Manast… from Naquadah, apparently. There were some crystals growing inside it, it seemed but otherwise the thing was almost completely solid.

It must have taken a lot of manpower to get this thing from the bottom of the crater up to here. Truth be told, they had a lot of that. I had squeezed, quite literally, some intel out of my captives from Ileth by now and thus knew that every human on this world was either a fugitive or a slave, while everyone who wore armour was likely a Jaffa and thus a slave master. This city had a lot of Jaffa, but the number of humans was oh so much greater.

Still. There were other things they could have been doing with this manpower than dig out a large metal ring that I hadn't even consciously tried to bury. It had just had the misfortune of standing in the middle of the city, I faintly recalled seeing it stand there, upright on a pedestal…

For some reason this had been just as important to them as preparing for siege. I filed this away under "interesting" as well. Then I got back to surveying the battle line and directing my Imps to undermine it.

They hadn't blocked the tunnel ends up, but there were small spheres littering all exit tunnels. So they had ventured into the tunnels during my unconsciousness. Apparently not very far though, the vaults and the workshop were still fine. Good. Without my Trolls I had no doors to properly secure my Dungeon. I could have made some myself, of course, but I really was no carpenter. Now, Alchemy, that was more my thing. Speaking of which, the spheres were possibly mines of some sort or at the very least traps of some description. Well, this was going to cost me a lot of Mana in any case, no reason to get squeamish…

What about the prison? Still there and still empty. The only measure of defence I currently had during the day had been the large distance the Jaffa would have to crawl through narrow tunnels with a very low hanging ceiling, but unfortunately that also meant I hadn't managed to herd any prisoners back there yesterday before all my Imps exploded. Well, this night would be different. Play time was over.

Time to start summoning Combat Imps as well, I thought, while my personal transport sprinted along through the darkness.

* * *

 **City of Bahal, three hours past midnight**

Vatir of Hebron was itching for a fight, as he led his warriors through the nightly streets of Bahal. His rank had allowed him to claim command over one of the patrols combing the city, and his legend had grown to the point already that he had been allowed to choose the five Jaffa in his squad himself. As it should be. After all, had it not been him who killed the Yellow Demon? Oh, sure, he had come back for more, but he had killed him.

He had spent a good few hours with the Magistrate again today, advising the Master on the best strategy for this night. The first attack yesterday had come shortly after sundown, much like the first night in Ileth, when the ground had collapsed under them. But Vatir had assured the old man that the following attacks would not come until much later in the night. For some reason the Demon feared the light of the sun, yes, as he only ever fought in the absence of it. But never again had he attacked so short a time after sunset. Vatir suspected it had something to do with his resurrection process. A lot of the legends, like the one about Osiris, mentioned the gods sleeping for a night before rising again, maybe it was similar for demons.

Still, this was pushing it. The time had passed, the demon was taking his sweet time this night, hence Vatir's growing impatience. Then he heard the sound – and grinned.

"That was a Staff Cannon! Jaffa! Kree!" 6 Ma'tok staffs snapped forward, their covers retracted as the weapons charged. More and more Cannon discharges could be heard in the distance now and Vatir saw the flashes of light against the star spangled sky.

"Stay away from windows and doors! Remember, you only get two chances. You either shoot them while they charge or bash them when they reach you. Miss both and you can explain your failure to Anubis!"

The Jaffa formed a wedge in front of him, then they resumed the patrol. Vatir would have preferred to take command of one of the cannons, but the magistrate had thought his experience would serve better in this position, guarding his fellow warriors' backs. He hoped the old man would not regret this decision, but he would fight as stalwart here as he would in any other position. And who knew what the fates would bring.

* * *

Do'Urden surveyed the battle from on top one of several wooden towers that had been erected behind the battle line. So far, so good. The little demons had returned, they had triggered the stun bombs his Jaffa had left behind, the light had been easy to see as it shone out the tunnels, illuminating the crater. That had been an hour ago, and his warriors were still shooting their advance to pieces. Every tunnel exit had a cannon aimed at it, the terrain in front of each was deeply cratered by now, and would be painted in demon guts, if those creatures didn't evaporate on death. Thank the gods for small favours, he thought.

Do'Urden was worried about one of the eastern positions, they were positioned at a rather steep slope. So far the underground had held under the repeated stresses of cannon discharges and he hoped it would continue to do so for the rest of the night. Regardless of their losses, the Demons kept coming, however. They shot out of the tunnels in waves, as unending as the sea itself it seemed, no matter how many of them died. Under constant bombarmend, hardly any of them made it high enough up the slope for the Jaffa guarding the ridge to shoot at them, but every now and again they did, and his Jaffa had already suffered casualties again. Only once had Do'Urden heard of an enemy this stalwart, in the old legends concerning Anubis himself. As the stories had it, his warriors were more scared of him than they were of death in battle and so they marched even into the hottest of fires. They died in droves, but they never retreated.

Ultimately, they had all died, along with their god. So there was that.

A young Jaffa climbed the ladder to the command post. Do'Urdens third listened to what he had to say, then apparently found it worth relaying. "Runner from East District, Master."

Oh, he had a bad feeling about this. East district was becoming a synonym for bad news lately.

"Their patrols have encountered Axe Demons."

Yeah. East district, alright. He wouldn't be buying anything over there again any time soon…

"There has to be a breach in our defences. Send runners to all district commanders. Warn them and tell them: I want to know how and where they made their way into the city proper."

"At once Mast..."

Do'Urden felt it before he could see it. A rumbling shook the tower, not unlike the one he had felt yesterday, if less intense. The tower vibrated, then shook, then wavered – then Do'Urden acted on instinct, jumping out of the wooden edifice, no matter that he was four metres above the ground. He hit the pavement painfully and felt the very road crumble under his grasping hands. His staff forgotten, he struggled to make it forward, metre by metre, but the house behind the command post, in a mockery of his efforts, seemed to drift farther and farther away with each fraction of a second.

"I was a fool..." were his last waking thoughts before the earth took him.

* * *

"Forward, you dogs! Don't falter against those wretched demons!" Vatir fired his staff from his support position behind his men, killing a demon that had made it past the volley of his squad. It was a time honoured position. It highlighted the skill of the leader, being able to shoot his enemies without hitting his own warriors, and it gave him the oversight he needed to control the flow of the battle.

"Forward I say! Chase them back into the underworld! And I will give a good beating to whoever shoots the least of them, tomorrow!"

It was the third wave of the demons they had driven back, which meant there was a fourth nearby. They always came in two groups. One attacked openly, the other sought to ambush in their wake. Only problem was, there was a T-Junction ahead.

"You three! Turn left up ahead! The rest of us, turn right! On my command, charge, clear the junction, stand in the middle of the road! Kree!"

And they charged. The last three demons fell to their volleys, then, as if possessed of one mind, the six Jaffa reached their positions and turned, Staffs levelled.

"Oh, Sokar's Balls…."

These were not fifteen. More like fifteen waves, maybe. Vatir saw firelight reflected on their unearthly sharp axes, saw their beady eyes glint in the night. Dozens of them, surely, on each side of the road. Before he could even give the order to fall back, he saw even more breaking through the wall of the building they had just passed – blocking their retreat. Surrounded on all sides. Hundreds of enemies. Well, they would need that many to bring down Vatir of Hebron!

"Jaffa! Give them no quarter!"

* * *

 **Underneath Bahal**

Few of my minions ever saw my heart. It was after all the cornerstone of my very existence. Not exactly fragile, but even a slightly damaged heart would play merry hell with Mana extraction. And besides, why take the risk.

Few of those who had seen it, had ever understood the nature of my heart. Especially amongst the warlocks the idea had persisted that one could craft a heart somehow and attach it to one's life-force. To my knowledge no one ever suspected that they had it completely backwards.

The heart was not an organ. The humanoid body was. This thing of muscle and nerves and bones that allowed me to walk around like the man I was not, it was an addition, a bonus. The heart on the other hand. That. That was me.

The Dungeon Heart.

And the floor and the walls.

The rooms, the furniture, the coins and pellets in the vaults.

The entirety of the dungeon was my body, with the Imps very much akin to my blood.

Still, there was some truth to it. The heart was a focal point. And with it a few hundred kilometres away from the battle came certain disadvantages for which to invalidate a body came in rather handy.

I felt my Imps more clearly, saw what they saw more vividly, could issue commands more precisely as my body floated in the sanctity of the ritual chamber, deep below the city. I felt the Mana course through me as I directed my army of incompetent cannon fodder against the elite surface dwellers.

I had hoped they would eventually run out of ammunition for those infernal weapons so I could simply overrun them, but as the hours crept on and my secondary preparations neared completion, I had to conclude that this idea had to be abandoned. Whatever those things were, they didn't even need to be reloaded, apparently. Well, they had been shooting at shadows for the most part anyway. Conjuring up illusions, movement, pictures was far less Mana intensive than having to constantly replace Imps. The occasional real wave was among them, and they made it to the top regularly, just to keep the warriors on their toes. The real fight they had already lost.

With no counter spells in place, I had been able to keep an evil eye on all their patrols, find their command posts, bury towards their armoury. I had added an extra, secret basement to the latter and filled it with gunpowder, though I hoped I wouldn't need to blow it up. I was oh so eager to take the contraptions apart.

"Now… go forth…."

And with that, my warriors emerged in the city, just as the enemy's leaders were swallowed by the very earth they thought solid. Imps broke through basement walls, opened up staircases and carved ramps into the land, leading from the underground to the surface so my real army could march while the last combat Imps distracted the patrols. In front of the city gates, the ground collapsed into new craters, the slopes of which were quickly steepened by the work crews until not even they could scale them anymore. I could not have them all running away once they realized. I needed to test these new troops...

* * *

Ullach of Hebron was having a really bad night. He had but barely survived his command tower breaking apart under him, only to then see one emplaced cannon after the other erupt in explosions that he couldn't make out the cause for. He ordered the two glider flights to strafe the crater in order to keep the enemy contained, but shortly after, runners started coming in, from north and west districts at first, then from east and south, which should have gone to master Do'Urden if he was still alive instead. His patrols were engaged, all of them, it seemed. Shortly after, the reserve reported they were in combat with additional demons around the armoury but were holding them at bay, giving Ullach hope that all was not as bad as it had at first appeared – and then the gliders had started exploding.

Plasma bolts from their own weapons, fired in sequence, streaked skywards from various buildings, making the source rather easy to identify. The pilots struck back, pulverizing the buildings in question and before long Ullach knew he would have to assign fire crews again if he didn't want to preside over a pile of ash come the morrow.

But nothing of this even remotely prepared him for the sight that came next.

* * *

"We have lost containment." Ullach addressed the twenty something young Jaffa before them. Officially, they were not yet warriors, they were too young. Unofficially, having his runners traverse a demon infested city at night unarmed would have been tremendously stupid, so they all had been issued Zat'nik'tels.

"Find your commanders. Have them recall their patrols. At this point our only chance is to stand united. We will regroup at the armoury and push outwards from there."

That place at least was still secure. With more than 1500 Jaffa entrenched in the armoury, the nearby barracks and the surrounding city block, the Demons had not found any purchase there.

"Now, go. Run as fast as you can, it will likely be your last message for the night." And the youths sprinted. Ullach was about to issue the command to his own troops to begin a fighting withdrawal from the edge, when a horn sounded from his northern flank, asking for immediate assistance.

Pulling his warriors in as he passed them, he marched towards the northern edge of his fortifications.

There he saw them.

"Almighty sun…."

He had no idea who had said it, but it coalesced more expressions out of the others. He could not blame them. Had he been wearing an eye, he would have clutched it as well.

Before him the street opened up into the square in front of the northern gate. The street itself had been barricaded, the barricades had been manned. A single Staff cannon had rested on a wooden pedestal to fire in support.

All of this was now swarmed by abominations far worse than even the bug eyed demons.

White as snow were they. Wearing the armour and weapons they had wielded in life. Flesh stripped from their bones they strode amongst the fortifications. Shooting, tearing, searching. The barricades were burning, and Ullach saw the last defender go down, firing his Zat'niki'tel repeatedly at one of the warriors, who only grinned at him as he ripped him apart, blue lightning playing over his armour. Grinned in a way that only a fleshless skull could. As the… thing turned to Ullach, the stout Jaffa felt his knees wavering. Unholy fire burned in the eyes of what had once been a proud Jaffa. Red pinpricks of light focussed on him, then the thing grabbed the Weapon of the warrior it had just dismembered. With an ear piercing scream the…. Skeleton… charged his battle line, raising it's arm to aim. Before he could order it, his warriors opened fire themselves, lifelong training kicking in, lighting the attacker up. Every hit made the creature stagger – but it kept coming. Every shot burned away armour – but it kept coming. For every time it squeezed the trigger, it took ten hits of its own – but it kept coming. It lost the weapon arm, most of the rib cage, then the left leg. Soon the armour was in tatters, the spine snapped, the hipbone pulverized – but it kept coming, crawling towards them with the one remaining arm, screaming all the time. Tearing at their souls. Only when a shot hit home on it's head, finally shattering the skull, did the remains stop moving.

Unfortunately, it was not alone. More and more of the abominations appeared out of doors and alleyways. Some pearl white, some crimson stained. Some missing limbs, some wearing already blackened armour. And when they all screamed in unison, Ullach of Hebron, Jaffa Warrior of Ra, survivor of 40 years of fringeworld warfare, veteran of three coreworld campaigns – soiled his armour, dropped his weapons… and ran.

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 **It has to be said...**

 **Ma'tok staff potency** _– I am aware that the 1994 movie "Stargate", while serving as the basis for the Stargate franchise we all know and love, was not made by the same people that made said franchise. Roland Emmerich has gone on record saying that he isn't particularly fond of the current continuity that has arisen from his work and is apparently trying to start his own. According to Wikipedia, a new trilogy of movies is in the planning stages, which might or might not establish it's own canon._

 _Still, the Jaffa weaponry in the movie was quite a bit more powerful than what we see in the series and I honestly like it better that way. In the Stargate SG1 pilot episode the staffs were still macho enough to bust the protagonists out of a solid stone building, but somehow they got progressively weaker as the series went on, until they had hardly any impact anymore. Similarly, the competence of the Jaffa gradually declined from "Feared-Warriors-that-trained-really-hard-all-their-lifes", to "Idiots-who-had-to-be-shown-how-it's-done-by-upstart-earthers". Keep in mind both that Teal'c regularly kicks the crap out of pretty much anyone and that even the youngest Jaffa warrior present in the crowd in that "P90s are better than Staffs" episode might very well have been older than O'Neill. SO much wasted potential…_

 **Geb** _– Egyptian god of the earth (yes, another one). Father to Osiris and Isis, who I didn't know were siblings before writing this. Kinky._

 **A Keeper's Avatar** _– I might have to rewrite this somewhat. In case it didn't become clear in the story: A Dungeon Keeper has both a Dungeon, a Dungeon Heart, and a humanoid body walking around. The only way to kill him, as in the games, is to shatter the Heart, as the walking body, the "Avatar", so to say, isn't really a living thing (this is my own addition to the franchise, btw, it has no basis in the games). Still, if the body is destroyed, "killed" so to say, the backlash forces the Keeper into a sort of coma that lasts unto the next sunset, at which time a new body is spontaneously generated in the heart chamber._

 **Skeletons** _– They were kinda useless in the game, weren't they…_


	4. Chapter 3 - Questions and Answers

**CHAPTER** **3 – Questions and Answers**

I spared the new prison complex just the barest part of my attention while tending to a myriad of other chores throughout my growing domain. Breaking a garrison was after all only the beginning of a conquest. The skeletal warriors, undead remains of both citizens and slavers of Ileth, had served me well in that regard, as I had expected. In my experience, most people reacted rather… extreme when they first happened upon the living dead trying to chew their face off and they had won me many a battle in the past through their effect on morale alone. Although, armed with the firestaffs, I could see their importance in my army increase. You only needed to point and shoot, just like their twisted, simplistic minds liked it.

With the Jaffa Warriors routed, their remains captured and corralled by normal Imps into the now enlarged tunnels, the captives disrobed, once they reached the prison complex, then were channelled into the cells proper, reminded by one of their numbers, nailed upside down to the wall, that I brooked no opposition at this point. In a few days, some of them would be sent back to the surface to help sort through whatever loot could be found, but for now I wanted the thought of them being prisoners to sink in.

And in a few more days after that, most of them would follow the path tread by their kin from Ileth, flesh stripped from their bones to take up arms again and join my growing army.

That left the humans to deal with…

* * *

Malek the scribe had seen things in the service of the gods. He had learned that the Jaffa were murderous assholes, most of them anyway, he had learned that your chances of daily survival were best when you didn't give them any lip, he had learned to anticipate their wills and whims and to evade their anger whenever possible. In short, he had learned to bend over and take it.

He saw no shame in this. It had allowed him to stay alive, to take a wife, to father two lovely children. He slaved away from sunrise to sunset, organizing their city for them and had barely any time for his family, but then again, to work and sweat and die, that was the fate of man, wasn't it? They all did their part, did what they had to in order to survive, did what the gods commanded.

Well, apparently that would change now….

When the ground had collapsed last night, when the screaming and the shooting and the.. dying had started, Malek had first seen one of the "Axe Demons". A swarm of them actually. His family had been huddled together against the back wall of their one room abode, while he had barred the door windows and watched for anyone coming for them. The children had been grumpy at first, from being woken in the night, then curious for that was a babe's nature. Then of course, their parents' obvious fear had seeped into their little minds and eventually, the crying and sobbing had started. The wall to the neighbouring house breaking open had not helped in this regard, neither had the horde of little monsters coming through. The door closed off, their only escape rout blocked by his own hands, they had pressed their children into a corner of the room, guarding them with what little armour their own bodies would afford them – but the gnomish, beady eyed things had apparently been otherwise inclined. The one with the pick had run straight through his house, opened up the opposing wall with a few well placed strikes, then disappeared into the hole framed with green dust. His armed and armoured companions had followed in his path as he disappeared in the hole, followed by a scream a second later, from whoever they had spooked now.

The following day had been unusual. Hectic. It had reminded him of a campaign he had helped prepare for once. He had prayed to the sun back then that he wouldn't be on the loosing side. That this, exactly this, wouldn't happen. That he wouldn't be pulled and pushed through the streets, away from his house, towards an uncertain though probably violent future.

When the shooting had died down again, he had hoped the Jaffa had won the day once more, a hope quickly dashed when another swarm of demons, this time accompanied by a walking skeleton of all things, had invaded his home. The creature had pulled him out on the streets with it's one remaining arm while his family followed behind, herded along by the cajoling demons, towards the northern city gate, where they had been waiting ever since. More and more humans, neighbours, friends, co-workers had entered the open plaza, pushed, pulled, sometimes dragged along by their terrifying jailers. Any time someone stepped out of line, a bone chilling screech could be heard, but thankfully, the monstrous dead hadn't started shooting them. Malek knew what panic could do to a mob like this and he was all too painfully aware that he and his family were right in the middle of it.

He had seen things this night. Had seen grown men soil themselves as the skeletal remains of a man screamed at them with a voice that could surely split rocks.

Had seen bored little demons play ball with what he only hoped was actually a ball.

Had seen Jaffa, broken, bleeding, in some cases crying like children as they were walked away by even more of the ivory coloured terrors ironically armed with the warrior's own firestaffs.

And he had wondered. He couldn't help it. While others had slaved away in the mines, on the fields, in the refineries and the ware houses, Malek had always worked with his mind. A mind that saw the signs, took notes and made calculations as the night neared it's end.

The Jaffa had been beaten. The city had fallen, the invaders didn't even bother to extinguish the fires.

The Jaffa were being herded away like kettle, down into the tunnels, and some of their wraith like jailers were wearing the remains of Jaffa armour, none of which boded well for their future.

But the humans were not. The citizens of Bahal were instead gathered up like runaway cattle. And with them, his children and his wife. So Malek prayed. To all the gods he could remember the names of he prayed.

And then the demon came.

* * *

I watched as the scared sheep retreated at my approach. It was near dawn. Time to wrap this up while I still had the majority of my forces around. Skeletons didn't exactly like the light of the sun, their corrupted nature spurning it, but Imps and daylight simply didn't mix. If I didn't want a rather unseemly display of melting demons to undermine my authority, I would have to pull them back underground in a couple hours and maybe have my more resilient troops stand in the shade somewhere. For now, I commanded the ring of diggers and workers to contract around the humans. There were so many more of them then there were of my skeletons, the process by which those were created simply took to long, requiring starving under very specific circumstances. The next Ileth batch would take a few more days.

"Who speaks for you?" I thundered into the bunch of wretches. Only fearful eyes looked back at me in what was not an answer. I had the time for this, but I sure as hells didn't have the nerve…. On my whim, five skeletons walked up to each side of me, staff weapons levelled at the crowd, which shrunk back in response. I could hear whispers and whimpers, crying and clamouring.

When they stopped, slightly behind me, their weapons snapped open and by the looks on the slaves' faces, they knew exactly what that meant. The crying intensified tenfold and the humans managed to compress their mass even further against the closed city gate. Truth be told, I was becoming increasingly fond of these things. The staffs were an awesome tool of terror. Just readying them to shoot had left such an imprint on these people, who were ready to claw and bite at their neighbours and friends and climb over each other to get just a little bit further away…

Actually ordering to open fire on the mass of bodies was probably a bad idea though. A frightened mob was good for business, but a panicked mob beyond control would stomp all over my troops and that was not what I needed right now.

"Who speaks for you?" I thundered again. Hopefully they weren't all sheep.

I swept my gaze over the teeming mass and quickly noticed the one human that moved against the grain. Everyone wanted to get away, only one moved towards me. Hard to overlook, really. My mood rose.

And then, there he stood. Almost ejected by the masses, the nearest of which kept alternating between frightened looks aimed at me, and what might very well be hopeful glimpses at their new envoy. Not much of an envoy, granted. Frail. Weak. Underfed. Much better clothed than the rest of this lot though…. Also had a female by the looks of the woman whose eyes were downright burying into his back now. And was that a babe she was clutching? Potential, potential…

"The Jaffa are beaten. This city, this land and all the riches of the earth around – are mine now." I gave pause here, just to see whether or not he would respond. When he tried to, I gave him a snarl and saw him shrink before me. Nice. The Jaffa had done some good conditioning it seemed. Not only were these people used to the whip, they expected it.

"I have made my use of the Jaffa..." And here I gestured around, indicating the undead. "I have a different use for your people." Well, probably anyway. If this was all the measly resistance this world could offer up against me, the contents of the armoury might very well suffice to conquer it and I wouldn't need to chuck them all into my magic prison cells. Otherwise, however….

* * *

"I need craftsmen, mainly. You will organize them. You will tell me what your people can do, what they need in order to do it. When I need something from them, I will talk to you."

Malek nodded, but the demon continued before he could contemplate making another attempt at speech. So far, the giant before him had kept his hands behind his back when he stood. Now he began to walk again and Malek could see his claws with increasing clarity as he approached. 'Gods protect me, he is coming towards me, his fear addled brain realised…' He wanted to run, he really did, but his legs refused. They had wavered the whole time. When he had tried to make his way here, when he had tried announcing his name, when the demon had growled at him. Wavered, yet for some reason, refused to buckle. And now, the traitorous things were rooting him to the spot entirely.

'It is okay', he told himself. 'You can't run anyway.' There was half the population of the city behind him. It had been hard enough to get here but he had no doubt in his heart, no matter how fast it was beating right now, that they wouldn't allow him back through. The crowd behind him might as well have been a wall.

His eyes rebelled against Malek as well. They remained rooted to the yellow demon's. When he finally stopped, so close that Malek could make out individual scales on his hide, the demon reached for him, a wide grin revealing pointed teeth as long as fingers, and the human was sure, if his bowels had anything left to give, they would have done so now – in this last moment before the torture began...

* * *

The pain of the little human was almost palpable as I burned my mark into him. My thumbs pressed into his temples, I murmured the ancient spells that would bind him to me as my first, real minion on this world. Imps were useful, skeletons were fine, even better with these new weapons, really, but neither had the brains to swing a hammer for any other purpose than bashing someone's skull in, not to mention that a standing army of Imps required an upkeep of Mana that defied all reason.

I had done this ritual so many times in the past that I could have recited the lines in my sleep, had so many bonds seen formed that by all rights it should be rather boring by now. But feeling the very essence of a creature twist and twitch in anguish as I chanted somehow never got old. His flesh, his skull, his very soul now bore my mark. Only mind shattering pain or crippling rage would be able to wash it away.

I let go of him and watched the little man crumble to the ground, then scramble onto his knees, putting his hands and forehead into the dust before me. A faint echo of his fear and pain was now barely noticeable at the edge of my awareness.

It was done.

He was mine!

"When the morning comes, my Imps will withdraw and the skeletons of your erstwhile slave drivers will retreat to the walls and fortifications. Any building that houses any of their weapons is taboo for you. Any weapon of theirs that is found in the city is to be turned over to me. I will send some workers to collect whatever I need, then return at sunset to have some questions answered. I suggest you get this shit hole in order till then. Other than that, you and your people are free to do as you please."

One Skeleton, the one with the most armour remaining, walked over to the two of us.

"This one will accompany you." No more. No explanation. He could see it as a guard, if he liked, the true purpose of the construct would be to lend some weight to his authority. They were quite good at staring people down, even in daylight. I turned to leave, then paused.

"Oh, and Malek?" He stopped rubbing the right side of his head, snapped back into prostrating position and almost bashed his skull in on the pavement.

"The next time we speak, you either look at me, or I will tear your eyes out, seeing how you obviously don't need them..."

His head whipped up immediately and I revelled at the torrent of emotion I could see in his eyes for another moment. Then I turned and left, the lone undead moving to position itself behind my new minion. On my way back to the nearest tunnel I contemplated this custom of theirs. Clearly he had been afraid that I would punish him if he did look at me, the lowering of one's gaze either a sign of respect or deference in his mind, but the clear opposite was my policy. Eyes were the windows to their souls after all. Anyone attuned to magic would surely agree. Which might have some weird implications for this place. It was high time I started the interrogations.

* * *

 **Midday. Torture Chamber. Below Ileth**

Unlike my Jaffa prisoners, who were either wasting away in the cells or digging through the rubble in Bahal, this one, I had been promised, was a little something else. And unlike the bulk of the Jaffa, who would work until they could work no more – which wouldn't be all that long, since I wasn't feeding them – and then go back to their cells to starve and let the prison work it's magic, this one I would probably keep in one form or another. I lifted the possession spell and exploded into being once more at the entrance of the only of my torture chambers that had seen use so far, and light use at that. There had been no need for it so far. Wasn't really my expertise either, although I had of course picked up a lot over the centuries.

As the slightly dazzled Imp sped away to resume his duties, I strolled through the regrettably very empty chamber, the only guest currently nailed to a wall, simply because I had yet to find the time and muse to actually build any torture devices. Part of the spell that created the room were the mechanic and etheric interfaces that marked the ground in regular intervals, places to slot torture racks, Catherine Wheels, Judas Chairs or really whatever into and allow the master of the chamber to run those devices on the Mana I supplied.

It was kind off uncomfortable really, how so much in my dungeon relied on me calling upon the workforce of others to achieve the greater things. At least the workshops came pre equipped with stone anvils and forges and Trolls usually brought their own equipment with which to improve things. I stopped at a closed valve which upon opening would unleash torrents of hell-fire on the belly of whatever was mounted on top at the time and recalled Brazen Bulls, white glowing metal spikes and tubs filled with boiling oil.

"Good times, good times..." But this emptiness was just depressing.

I gave the metal frame that held my guest of honour a little jolt of mystic lightning and watched her spasm for a few seconds. When she latched on to me with her hateful eyes and made ready to throw another round of obscenities at me, like she had done at every meeting we had had before, I waited for her to start – then simply gave her another jolt. I cleared my throat, made sure she could see me grin, then judged her ready for a little conversation.

"You were saying… Lady Arihes...?"

"Insolent… My Lord will see you burn for this….!"

"I remember you saying this before, yes. Until he does, however, you will remain my guest. Did you bite your tongue?"

Another jolt, lower power this time. Humans didn't react all that well to electricity.

"It has been a few days since last we spoke and I have to say, I am still not any closer to the mystery you represent, Mylady."

Several mysteries, actually. For one, someone who had been prodded, poked, burned and electrocuted on an almost daily basis, not to mention fastened to a rack for over a week now should really not have that much spunk left in her. The hatred I saw in her eyes defied all the experience I had with humans so far. Then again….

"You are not Jaffa." That at least would have explained her healing abilities. I had had a few hours of fun testing the limits of those…

"You are not human either." Though her Aura looked deceptively like theirs, I had to say.

"And you are most certainly not a god..." That got a rise out of her again. She collected what little spittle and blood filled her mouth and sent it all my way. I really had no idea why humans found that insulting. I got sprayed with more and nastier fluids in every second battle….

"So.", I turned back to a table made of a large tree trunk I had ordered my imps to hack on the surface. The improvised furniture was still oozing sap and the rough metal tools lying on it were slightly sticky. Didn't matter. The chamber was currently set to default, which meant that nothing could die in here. Any infections or parasites the various knives, pliers and pincers might inflict upon the fallen god would not be allowed to do much more than weaken her before the integrated healing spell would activate and remove them. Picking a long knife, then pinching the tip of the blade between two fingers, I turned around again, grinning both for the effect I knew a nice set of teeth had on most creatures and because of the signs of distress that began to show on her face as the blade started to glow.

"Let's talk a bit about why exactly you were in that workshop in the middle of the night..."

* * *

 **Late afternoon, ruins of Bahal**

Malek had his own office now, although calling the tent that was maybe a bit of an overstatement. As the demon…. _the Keeper_ , a voice whispered in his thoughts, had promised, the little demons… _Imps_ …. Had withdrawn before first daylight and only one of the dead Jaffa remained – the one stalking him. Were they really dead? They had to, hadn't they? True, usually the dead didn't get up and shot the living. Then again, this armour reminded him of something, someone. And every time he turned around to look the thing…. _Construct_ …. The whisper again… it turned it's head, then tilted it in this weird fluid motion that he couldn't shake he had seen before on someone.

Malek shivered and returned to work. He had spent most of the early morning walking from one gate to the next and talking to the people that had been gathered at each one. Once he had explained the situation, the Skeletons at that particular gate had retreated, leaving the former slaves to their own devices, and most had promptly dispersed, returned to their own houses or wherever. Most of them had either seen him before or knew him personally, although he wasn't liked all that much, being a scribe to the enemy would do that to your reputation. But his ivory chaperone had given his words an amount of authority he never would have expected. And so all had given him much more attention than they otherwise would have.

Then came the routine part. Gather all the other scribes, see them set up somewhere, and begin to take inventory. The warehouses were still intact, that was good, so they had enough parchment and ink at least. And thus had ended the routine part…

He had sent some of the men around town to gather everyone in one place again, so he could properly list all the survivors, their names and jobs. But hardly anyone had turned up. A bit later the shouting and the smoke had started again and he had run faster than his guardian could keep up, back to the warehouses. One of them was on fire, with a few men trying to extinguish the flames, another was suddenly empty. Dead, wounded and fighting men he found in front of both and another group was trying to break open the third under the cover of their club armed companions.

Malek had almost despaired at that point. Almost. Then he had strode into the unholy mess, raised his voice, and when that didn't help, raised it louder, and when that still didn't work, had covered in sudden fear as his guardian had raised his own instead, the eerie outcry bringing the riot to a stop almost instantly. He had then spent an hour convincing the robbers that if this continued, none of them would likely see the light of the morrow, no matter how much food was stolen from the warehouses. He knew somewhere deep in his guts, that trying to persuade them to give back what they had stolen was probably pointless, but at least he managed to get the fires under control and a guard detail set up. All in all, it had been a lot more stressful than he had expected.

Now, as the deadline, very appropriate term, he thought, approached, he was finally compiling a list from the several others the scribes had managed to make. They had had to go from house to house in the end.

Well, at least cleanup had gone easier than expected. For some reason they had found not a single corpse in all the city, meaning the demon had probably taken the dead and Malek really didn't want to know why or what for. The buildings themselves were mostly made from clay, so while fire was a problem, spread was reasonably slow so at least it didn't threaten all of town with flaming death. Water was still plentiful, he had the hunch that no one would need food for the next day or so, the gates were still blocked, so they couldn't go work in the fields – or try and run away – and overall, everyone was still so damned scared that the rest of the day promised to be rather quiet. Good. Malek's mind needed some quiet before he could face that horror again.

* * *

 **Midnight. Workshop under Bahal**

The sound of fired forges, the scent of molten metal and the occasional scream when someone put his hands somewhere unhealthy reverberated through the room and filled my dark heart with a joy I hadn't expected. Finally I could really begin. It would take some time for the appropriated blacksmiths and carpenters to get the workshop up to speed, and then of course I would have to see how skilled they actually were in providing the things I needed, but to some extend at least the magic of the workshop would make up for any gross incompetencies. This was looking good.

I had demanded that every craftsmen take at least three apprentices down here with them. I couldn't call on the endless Troll-reserves of the Underworld after all, so I needed to expand my workforce in a more untraditional way. They would learn soon enough and take their own apprentices.

After digging out a few additional rooms nearby for lairs and another for a mess hall and a kitchen I turned to my own devices, the buzzing of three dozen additional minions a pleasing background noise in my mind. They could build the chairs and tables themselves, surely, enough wood had been brought down, and the cook was already hard at work providing a midnight snack. I had been tempted to throw one of the mongrels into the next blast furnace when I caught him sound asleep in a corner of the room earlier, but had decided to rip his heart out instead in front of everyone – and then heal him of course, before he could succumb to his wounds. I didn't have enough workers as it was…. Now, I had a feeling, they wouldn't stop working until sunrise, at which point they would be free to collapse, that was what the lairs were for after all. I would have Malek draft a schedule for shift work next week or so, for now, with these numbers, I would have to be satisfied with following the rhythm of the sun.

All the while, in my private little workshop, there lay several staff weapons in various states of disassembly. None among the ex-slaves had known, surprisingly, how to build or even service them, and after some prodding I had found out that neither had the Jaffa. The most one of them, their leader, who was awaiting a more thorough chat with me in solitary confinement, had known was how to reload the damn things, although the amount of shots they allegedly held had boggled my mind. Getting to that little green glowing bottle had been hard enough, I lacked all the necessary tools to take these apart and had broken a number of knives already trying to brute force it. It reminded me very much of the first time I had ever seen a metal screw, a design that had struck me as ingenious at the time. Not that I used all that many of those in any of my machines. They were far too troublesome to make in any meaningful quantities.

Well, not that I cared. The bulk of my enemies in the area was broken, the number of my minions was increasing, all was finally right with the world again. I had the time to fumble around a little with crude mechanics. Maybe take some of that glowing liquid to the alchemy lab and play around a little. After, I remembered, the bumbling wretches had made some pitchers and flasks for me. My brows furrowed. Another day then.

* * *

 **Late Morning. At the Stargate**

I looked up at the slender metal ring, now upright again and secured against tipping over with a new, masonry pedestal. After having a little chat with the old Jaffa last night, I had woken half the city and ordered it done. At the moment it was still mostly secured by a dozen strong ropes, the mortar hadn't had the time to dry yet….

"So this is a portal of some kind?"

The old man snickered. He was kneeling a few feet away, ironically guarded by two of the slaves he had lorded it over just a week ago. I had little doubts he could kill the two idiots if he really tried, even with the metal bar I had bend around his wrists to secure them behind his back in absence of shackles. They were there more to remind him of the turnaround than keep me safe.

"This, demon, is the 'Ring of the gods', the Chappa'ai. It is by my god's might that I and my warriors came here, and by his might more warriors will arrive through it and avenge us. The will of the sun cannot be denied."

Meaning I should really bury the thing. Then again, it was probably a faster way to find the remaining cities on this mud ball and speed up this campaign. Looked like the ideal bottleneck, too, so no harm in keeping it. I could easily fortify this.

"Where does it lead?"

The old man grinned. "To a thousand places, all ruled by the mighty Ra. All defended by forces a thousand times as strong as mine. This is just a measly mining world. The smallest of my Lord's possessions."

"Promising! How do I get there? How does it work?"

When the Jaffa didn't answer immediately, I turned around. His face was not the mask of defiance I had expected however. Instead he looked rather stupefied.

"You…. You want….?" his eyes darted in between the ring and me. Then a chuckle broke the surface of his wrinkled face. "You truly want to make war on the gods?" The chuckle grew into laughter and his two guards became uneasy, which in turn amused me greatly. They clearly thought they should do something about this, but it was even more obvious they were still afraid of the Jaffa, kneeling and bound though he was. I chose one of them at random and threw a fireball at him that send him flying for a few metres, where he hit the ground, already dead. Both his companion and the Jaffa stopped fidgeting and watched as the green flames danced upon the corpse and fizzled out a few seconds later. A new and stronger spell, accounting for the rather tough armour the Jaffa wore, and the slave hadn't worn any, hence the rather large crater in his chest.

When the two turned around, I addressed the remaining guard, right hand still surrounded by green ambers.

"Next time, don't hesitate!" He grabbed his staff harder and nodded fiercely.

"Well", the Jaffa remarked, humour gone from his voice, "You certainly have their attitude…."

I shrugged. I hadn't thought about it that much.

"But you cannot hope to defeat the gods. I don't know how we awoke you, what stone you crawled from under. But if I could hold against you, with what little I had, what chance do you have against the full might of the Supreme System Lord himself? He wouldn't be bothered by what you did to that man. He would suffer your fire like I would a summer breeze, and blow away your little demons with the power of a winter storm."

"So, your kind has magic after all. I was beginning to wonder."

"What are you talking about, demon? Look behind you! Is the ring not proof enough? The gods are invincible!"

I looked at the ring, more because of the surprise than because of anything else. Then I knelt before him to better see his face.

"The ring is magic?"

His angry look broke like a wave on a rock. His clenched jaw gaped open for a moment as he looked at me, obviously taken aback by my words, just like I was by his.

"Are the staffs magic too?"

I had found no evidence of either. Not that I had managed to completely take a staff apart yet – reassemble one for that matter – but so far I had found not a shred of magic, no runes of any significance or power, and the glowing liquid that supposedly powered them was so utterly mundane, so devoid of Mana… I had thought it a battery of sorts at first, as if some clever sorcerer had managed to somehow contain a couple fireballs inside it and build the staff as a means to unleash it, but had then concluded in the absence of Mana that it was most likely just a device instead, like a crossbow, just a lot more powerful.

There were a lot of crystals embedded in this great ring, so maybe I needed to take a closer look, but even an inactive portal should emanate something, shouldn't it? I couldn't have overlooked this, surely.

Do'Urden, wasn't that his name, was still flabbergasted when I turned to face him again. Well, skip that for the moment…

"And you can really sent people through this?"

"The gods move amongst the stars at will!" He seemed to be on auto pilot now, taking refuge in his Lord's propaganda. "Their mighty armies are without end! Their chariots blot out the sun! You are a fool to stand against them! They will come for you! And they will strike down all the infidels who follow you."

Probably a quip to the sorry excuse of a guard standing next to him. Truth be told, I was getting rather bored of this god talk, however peculiar it was. I had dealt with both gods and pretenders in the past. Had assaulted their followers, burned their churches, desecrated their holy places. Usually, parading a true believer around in chains in front of an object of worship such as this didn't get you mere insults from said believer. It got you hit with lightning by his patron god. I had somewhat expected that outcome, truth be told, and an Imp was standing on a deadman switch connected to several tons of gunpowder, three meters below us, just in case this sun god turned out to be the real deal. I couldn't just let these two run back to the city and undermine my authority while my dungeon shut down waiting for me to reincarnate. Digging the Stargate out of another hole was infinitely preferable to quenching a rebellion, I had just brought these peasants to heel after all.

This was weird though. If this "Ra" was just a pretender, he had to be a very impressive one, for him to invent the staffs, the cannons, and the ring and pass it all off as magic. For this guy to be this fiercely loyal to him. And if he wasn't, well, that begged the question: Why was I not black and crispy yet? Where was he? Busy?

Hm. One more idea.

"How does your god even know I'm here? I scrapped the portal, didn't I? You told me it doesn't work lying down."

"I told them, fool! When my Jaffa came to warn me of your attack on Ileth, when your little monsters came to take us and failed, I told the gods of you. They know everything now!"

"You mean when they ran away from me, tails in between their legs. Told them? How? Oh, don't tell me. You prayed to them….." I made it sound as derogatory as I possibly could.

"The all seeing Eye of Ra is mine, demon! Gifted to me by Lord Aker himself, so I could contact him directly in times of need!"

Now that sounded very much like a crystal ball. I would probably have to take a personal look through the barracks. Who knew what other knick knacks could be found there….

My thoughts must have shown on my face, for Do'Urden's distorted in a smile.

"Don't bother, demon. The eye won't speak to you! Only in my presence the gods listen to a plea brought before it!" Now it was my turn to laugh. And I did. I threw my head back and roared at the heavens, at the sky, at the sun this fool confused with his god. And this man called me a fool...

"You still don't get it, little man!" I raised my hands to the sky, still grinning like a madman, still a chuckle rocking my belly.

"You are beaten! Your men, what is left of them, serve me now! Your weapons have failed! Your city has fallen! Your gods have abandoned you!"

"My gods are invincigagh…..!" Very good timing for that smack over the head! That guard was learning….

"No one is coming for you! I will take your staffs apart, piece by piece, until I can build my own! I will take your men, and your Lady Arihes apart until I am bored and feed whatever remains to the wolves!

And everything you say! Every little detail, every new surprise you bring me, every remark you make just makes me want to take you apart as well!"

I strode towards him, picked him up and pulled him close so I could look him in the eye, pre-empting another attempt to spit at me by head butting him in the face.

"Lie to yourself, if you must, old man! But there is no one coming!"

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 **It has to be said….**

 **Rooms** _–_ _In the games, when you designated a room as a rookery, temple, training room, whatever, they came fully equipped. In this case, not so much. I want to keep the magical generation of stuff out of nothing to an absolute minimum, so every piece of equipment has to be built by someone. Libraries come without books or shelves, torture chambers without tools or devices, workshops at least get a fire pit and a stone anvil but nothing else,_ _hence the Keeper missing the Trolls so much... Imps like to chisel stuff in their free time, but are useless at most everything else._

 _Rooms also had certain magical elements attributed to them. Libraries allowed warlocks to research_ _stuff at an amazing rate, Workshops enabled even the meekest lvl 1 Troll to craft whatever the Keeper wanted. I will try to bring over as much of the mechanics as I can fit into this story._

* * *

 **Afterword**

 _I always feel very annoyed when by clicking the "next-chapter-button" I find myself immersed knee deep in answers the author of that particular story wants to deliver to his reviewers. I want to read the flippin story, not scroll through half a page of stuff, get out of my face, damnit…._

 _Now, however, that I find myself in the position of those authors I suddenly have mixed feelings about the whole thing._

 _I am deeply grateful for any and all feedback you fine people can give me, I really am. If you enjoyed the story, feel free to drop me a few lines, If you hated it and can keep your anger civil, feel free to do the same._

 _I don't want to make you feel like you are throwing words at a wall. But the emphasis should still lie with the story itself, I feel, so I will address any reviews, any suggestions, any questions down here at the bottom of the page in the future, so anyone who has reached this part of the page, if you are only interested in the story:_

 _Push teh Buton now!_

 _Lastly, truth be told, if you DO ask questions, you have to be aware that I might stonewall you when you ask anything plot related. The answer will most likely come sooner or later in the story itself._

 _Also, this section will likely change if and when more reviews trickle in. I might take a look and update it every time I post a new chapter._

 **So, onwards.**

 _I am not quite sure how to integrate the hole torture thing into the story. The Keeper is most certainly a sadistic bloke, so he might do some for fun every now and again, but at this point, he hasn't had either the time or the need for it. So no, no one has been turned._

 _Warlocks and Rogues from DKII certainly look human enough and they can enter into a contract freely, so torture is not an absolute requirement. Also torturing a human usually results in them not liking you very much, plus various nasty mental disorders. Then again, who knows. The Keeper is neither human himself nor has he extended contact to our species. He simply might not understand how fragile our little minds really are..._

 _The story will contain elements and mechanics out of DKI, DKII and maybe WftO, the so called "spiritual successor" of the series. I will change some, add some, subtract some and extrapolate some, seeing how there was no Stargate in the games._


	5. Chapter 4 - Invasion

**CHAPTER 4 – Invasion**

Okay, so maybe, just maybe, "There is no one coming", had been a miscalculation on my part. But seriously, how could I have known this? They always exaggerated. Always painted their gods in grander colours than were actually due, seven hells, more often than not they outright lied. How could I have known this frequent talk of 'other worlds', of 'moving between the stars' of giant flipping chariots – was actually true!

How could I have predicted something like this?

And as I watched, the Preon-Class Ha'tak, 700 metres wide with the giant Eye of Ra emblazoned on it's flanks descended upon the planet, clouds of Death Gliders flying in support, weapon domes circling, searching for a target….

* * *

 **X-3 days – Dungeon under Bahal – Library**

I enjoyed every stay in a library, even more so when I had some free time on my hands. The spellwork in this room was so precise, so beautifully done, so… pristine. Unlike most of my other rooms, this one – and the "Create Imp" spell – was almost a work of art. It sometimes made me wonder…

The magic didn't work for me of course. Libraries were conduits to a Keeper's mind, able to both gift information to an occupying minion and draw it from his brain. I felt at ease here, in some weird way, but expecting more would be like hooking up a blood transfusion from my right arm to my left and expecting that to do something. Well, if I actually had any blood...

And at the moment I didn't have any free time either. I was overseeing one of Malek's scribes as he wrote down rune after rune on the parchment. This was an experiment of sorts, and one that had me on edge by now. He had lost most of his vitality in the last week, as the quill in his hand drew upon his blood and indeed his very life force while he jotted down arcane runes, copying them from the recently finished book. They still couldn't work any magic, not enough to light a candle, and I was beginning to think something was fundamentally wrong with the humans on this world, but for the purpose I had in mind, this way was not only sufficient, it was in some ways even preferable. That was, if the sod didn't go ahead and die on me before he was finished. In which case I had wasted a week of my time. Seeing him deteriorate in the last days, I had assured him that his family would follow him shortly if he did and would have some fun stories to tell him. A little something to give him the will to carry on, or so I hoped.

When he reached out with trembling hand to turn the page on the bound volume his colleagues had provided him with, I did it for him instead, both impatient and eager to carry on. Come on! Just 10 more runes, damn you!

But an hour later I rejoiced. All sheets were done, the blood on the last one was drying and awaited my double checking of his work and the others were propped up and ready to be carried off. Handling these was a bitch in the best of cases, but in this case that was aggravated even more since blood, even infused blood, tended not to stick very well to parchment. I found my ire surging, not for the first time. Being cut off from the underworld was growing more and more infuriating with every gods damned little problem. It had been all so easy, so natural. In the old days Warlocks didn't run out of paper! They always brought their own stacks and usually a trunk full of books with them, which would then be added to the library of course, giving me something to assimilate. I had never given a second thought to what they did when they ran low on pages or on ink, hadn't bothered to think about paper at all. It was the flawed method of mortals for storing and passing on knowledge. Every Warlock had his own special ink mixture, some really quite intriguing, but now that my only option was to have my scribes write on treated animal hides, which were a nightmare to prepare and keep stocked in meaningful quantities apparently, not to mention bind to books, I had found myself pondering the question. It had probably been one of the things they spend their wages on, when they went back to the underworld on their free time. Goblins had usually returned drunk, Orcs with a new tattoo and some raunchy jokes, Mistresses with a smile and even more gold, and Warlocks with a new spell or book or staff or robe.

I knew, in theory, how paper was made. Chop down flax, do something with the plant to get fibres, add water and sieves, and voilà, paper. Only that it wasn't so easy, apparently. For the last two weeks some of my workers had been busy trying to figure out what I even wanted from them. They had never seen paper, had problems envisioning the concept – or the machines I wanted them to build that I myself had never seen, really, and were thus treading on new – and rather treacherous – ground. Me smashing one of their number's head in in frustration had not helped the matter.

"Good! Everything seems to be in order. MALEK!" my standard shout the last few days. As usual, my head scribe appeared, as if by magic, the look on his face, as usual, somewhere in between dutiful servitude and abject fear. I needed the little guy, so I worked to keep my temper in check around him, but if not knowing that kept him on edge, why tell him?

"Get the last sheet mounted and call someone to carry them. I am putting this to the test."

That was something new as well. Not all who worked for me were actually bound to me. Over the four weeks since the victory over the Jaffa I had taken more and more of the human population of Bahal in my service, which had created numerous problems, I remembered with a frown. The first of which had been them weirding me out with their reluctance to take gold coins as payment…

Pretty early on I had been rather shocked to suddenly feel intruders entering my dungeon, only to find out it had been a working detail, consisting at least in part of humans I had not taken into my service officially. By now there were always a few of them, coming and going, bringing in raw materials from the surface, selling or buying food, carrying out one errand or another. Basically they were Bahal's Imps, I thought with amusement. Took some getting used to, to not jump constantly at that feeling. I should probably claim the rest of them before that became a bad habit.

On the other hand, most Jaffa were dead by now, flesh stripped from their bones which now served without rest or hesitation, and which I had found were better at handling staffs than any skeletons I had created from the former slaves. They were taller and their bones were thicker as a rule as well, so I had not bothered to turn many baseline humans aside from a few for various experiments. Even after the siege had ended, I had been left with way over a thousand prisoners, only a few of which I was still keeping alive as workers on the surface, sifting through the ruins. It yielded some salvage, to be sure, but mostly served as a means to acquaint my new human warriors watching over them with the attitude they needed. Training rooms were doing good work, as always, a new version I had dubbed the "firing range" had done a lot to increase their accuracy, but the human element should never be underestimated. If they cut their teeth on malnourished, grumpy Jaffa, I had at least some hope they wouldn't break immediately when they had to go and kill the real thing, which by now I was awaiting with baited breath. Four weeks since Bahal had last made contact with it's overlords, the response army surely had to be on it's way by now.

"My Lord, we are ready. We await your command."

I nodded, then, following a sudden inspiration: "And the title is 'Keeper', Malek. Try to remember that..." predictably, that made him flinch and I graced him with another full toothed grin, as he struggled to correct himself, putting him off balance further.

The title was, truly, not that important. I preferred it, matter of fact, the insinuation there that I was more than their Lord, more than the one that merely commanded them. That I well and truly owned them and every time the word was spoken, there was the subconscious reminder of it. But I really didn't care all that much.

I scratched my chin and looked him up and down. "I could of course give you a little help. Edge it into you somewhere..."

Again he bowed, again he stumbled through the words. Honestly, I just liked to see him jump….

"Well, another day perhaps." I then turned to the 13 assembled humans, each holding one wooden T-shaped rod, with the inscribed sheet of parchment secured to the horizontal bit.

"Follow me, all of you. Damage the script in any way and I will feed you your offspring's hearts. Come, Malek. To the graveyard."

Like a religious procession we entered the tunnels, a few Imps joining us after a minute, following behind as well as making sure the way ahead was clear, shooing away any who went about their business and generally making a mess of things. I had invested too much time and nerves in this to see it fail now.

* * *

The graveyard had been one of the earliest rooms to be build soon as the siege of Bahal had begun. The dead from the fighting had gone here, and a few more I'd had killed and buried every week, just to speed the process along. By now, the soil was saturated. Ready. We entered the place, a large underground crypt, devoid of the life that usually began to grow in places like this, where mother earth was exposed to the air. No, despite the residual dampness that always permeated the place and the mist hugging the ground, no mould, no fungus. The only life that was present here was that which walked through the doors – and the one naked Jaffa of course, whose feet were chained to the open monolithic coffin in the centre.

"A good day to you, Master Do'Urden. Be assured, it is actually day. Sunny, even."

"Sokar take you, demon!"

"Hm. Believe it or not, I actually know what that means by now. Shouldn't it be: 'Sokar take me _back_ ', though?" The old Jaffa only snarled at me. He had sat on the edge of the coffin when we entered, when the humans, who had to look like weird banner men, were arrayed by Malek along the wall. Now he stood again, shrugging off the weight of years as easily as he did that of the last month. There was a reason I had chosen him for this and I smiled.

"Now, I am afraid, your use to me has come to an end. What you see here", I gestured, "Well, I guess you could take the parchment as your burial shroud."

He spat at the ground between my feet, then straightened. "Do as you will. Whoever talks to you in my stead, my conscience is clean. I don't know what this is supposed to be, but you will not see me beg! I will go to the gods with my head held high."

"Hm. We will see about that…" I turned back to look at the thirteen standard bearers, then pointed at the one I needed first. "You. Come here." Before he reached the two of us, I bade him to stop.

"Now, Master Jaffa, there is but one thing… You see, it is a rather expensive burial shroud. It took quite a while to prepare this for you and I would rather not see it damaged or torn to shreds in a last act of defiance." A fire lit in Do'Urden's eyes. It was one of the reasons why his place was better reserved for a willing man. You could hardly haggle with someone who was about to die… Usually, that was.

"And what would you have me do, then? Come here, little human! Let me take a look at that rag, let me take a closer look. If this is going to carry me to the afterlife, I think I should be allowed to see whether I even like it."

I held up a hand, just in case. Do'Urden snarled at him.

"A few of your brothers are still alive, Jaffa. If you do me this one service, I might be tempted to leave it that way."

"Feed your lies to whatever turncoat you have found amongst my men, demon! If I have learned anything these last four days in this place, it is that Jaffa lives mean nothing to you. Your promises are not worth the foul air that carries them! You will spare none of us!"

Well, he had me there. Dead Jaffa were literally worth more to me than live ones. Especially this one.

"How about this promise then. I'll chain you up in the torture chamber instead, as a spectator, mind you. You can be the last Jaffa to die instead. Admittedly that will take awhile, but my interrogators have to learn their handiwork eventually. They won't lack for enthusiasm, I don't think. Not against your kind…"

Do'Urden strained against his chains. He didn't try and reach for me, thankfully, that would have looked plain ridiculous, but he tried shuffling his feet forward more than could be healthy for his ankles.

"Did I mention how many children are still alive?" Well, none, but he didn't need to know that…

And it apparently did the trick. His feet stopped the senseless act of defiance, then moved back into a more comfortable position. The chain no longer taut, his eyes were still shooting arrows at me, yet his shoulders slumped somewhat.

"Go on, then… Do your worst..."

"That's much better. Hold your arms out, to the sides. Yes, like that. Feet further apart…. Good. Now hold."

I gestured to one more of the men to approach, then took the first parchment from the contraption holding it and hanged it over his left arm. The next went over the right.

"Okay, now you, then you, then you, you, you…..." Malek took note of course and one by one the men approached. One by one Do'Urden was draped in the 13 Parchments of various sizes, which stuck to his bare skin as if glued onto it. Very good. Finally, the last went around his neck, then criss cross over his chest. By now his arms were straining. Another disadvantage of parchment, I thought. The stuff was rather heavy… Well, only one more thing to do.

I pulled a dagger, the finest piece the blacksmiths had managed to make in four weeks of trying and the only one that had passed muster. I was really missing my Trolls. The runework on the blade I had done myself, the etching that followed at least had been competently done. I looked Do'Urden into the eyes one last time. "Remember. 53 Jaffa. Their deaths will be on me, eventually, but how they die is entirely up to you… Now hold. Don't! Move!"

I began to chant. Every now and again, I cut him. Light, deeper, light again. When I was finished at last, I could see the red haze forming among the unmarked graves, seeping from the mists. Could feel the Batteries emptying. The drain was increasing quickly. One last cut, catch a single drop of blood. Paint the last rune on his forehead. Then step back.

Creating a Vampire was a tricky thing to do in the best of circumstances. Usually it was done by warlocks, or if you had nothing else, some Cultists would do. If you needed a lot of Vamps, expendable minions to do the summoning were actually better, the process consumed part of their souls after all. Since I had no soul, and even if I did, I would have been unwilling to sacrifice some of it, the process would cost me a lot of Mana instead. A lot of Mana. So much in fact, that this one would deplete my reserves almost completely and thus would have to remain the only one. For the next several weeks at least. Without this new material to make Mana Batteries from, the summoning would have been all but impossible this early in my campaign.

That reminded me, I should probably try and heal the scribe later. It had been so long since I had summoned a Vampire myself, I could not remember whether or not the loss of vitality was permanent, a sacrifice to the darkness that would spawn the beast, or if he could actually recover. If not, might as well make him Urden's first meal. Scribes were few and far between among my new minions, but he wouldn't be of much use to me the way he was now…

Malek's men were becoming increasingly uneasy. Red mists swirled along their feet, pulled at their legs. By now they would hear the whispers, I knew. It was done, the creature was summoned. Now it was circling, like a shadow did a flame, drawn like a moth to the fire that was Do'Urden, as he was the only means of relieve. Then, a scream from the other side of the veil. Malek's eyes were about as fixed to the Jaffa as were my own, I barely noticed one of the men collapsing as the shadow finally appeared behind the Jaffa Master, yanked his head to the side, then took a deep bite at his throat, before both disappeared in darkness as all torches went out in unison.

When the lights flickered on again, both were gone, shadow and Jaffa, the shackles empty. In their stead stood a pale man, bareheaded, naked, a body that would have made a statue blush with envy. Little hunched over, maybe. His face resembled Do'Urden, to be sure, but also every one of the dozens of Jaffa who shared this place with him. Glorious. The very first Vampire I had summoned myself in over a millennium. And it had all gone off without a hitch. I walked up to the new spawn, who looked about the place with curiosity.

"Hear me!" It's white eyes focussed on me. "Who am I?" He looked me over with interest.

" _Master…. Keeper….."_ the voice both an echo and a silent scream.

"And who are you?" This seemed to trouble him some more. He tilted his head. Looked around. Looked at me again. Straightened up.

" _Urden..."_

I smiled. His gods would not have him after all.

* * *

 **X-2 days – Dungeon under Bahal – Servant quarters**

Teela honestly couldn't remember a time in her life when she had been more content with – well, everything. Her children were well fed, healthy and happy. She wasn't wearing rags any more but linen that had been woven specifically for her. The sheer luxury! And this 'lair'! At the start they had lived in a room with a dozen others, huddled together like sheep in winter. Malek had somehow changed that. Argued with the Keeper that he would benefit from providing larger living quarters for himself and his family – and presumably others. That humans didn't really thrive on being penned in like beasts. It was the one thing, Malek had said one evening, you could rely on for him to not kill you for. For some reason, the "Yellow Demon" really liked to dig….

And now they had this. A large room, big enough for a king! The children could run and play in here, the walls were long enough to hold Malek's desk, his books, scrolls, tools on one side, a place to cook on another, and still have enough room in the middle for the large table that could fit the whole family and some guests! They had two additional rooms, which had seemed to Teela like one more than anyone could ever possibly need. By now, however, she was thankful for the privacy. The thick stone walls made it absolutely impossible to hear what anyone was doing in even an adjacent room, which she definitely appreciated, and so the children now had their own bedroom.

Oh, sure, there were downsides. She didn't have to carry in firewood, the flames somehow fed themselves, but the… thing… above the stove that inhaled the fumes from the fire seemed to breathe even when she wasn't cooking, was shaped like some kind of animal and sometimes Teela wasn't quite so sure it wasn't following her around the room with those red painted eyes. Living underground had taken some getting used to even if she didn't have to stay down here all the time. And then of course there was Malek still working for someone who was likely to kill him on a whim or a bad day. She doubted it would happen though. Unlike the Jaffa, to whom he had been just another scribe running the city for them, the Keeper needed Malek. He, her husband, she thought not without pride, was basically the glue that held this whole thing together. When he went out in the morning, he went topside, to talk to hunters, lumberjacks, farmers and whoever else remained on the surface. He talked to the craftsmen when the Keeper wanted something done, which was all the time, apparently, he saw to it that the kitchens had the food they needed, that the resources from up top were delivered, that everyone knew where he had to go and to be. That ghastly skeleton that had followed him around everywhere for the first week was gone by now, thank the gods… Teela stopped in her thoughts.

Should she really be thanking those pricks? Sure the Keeper's moniker was justified, the children sometimes still had nightmares about those first nights. But the minions of Ra had never done anything like this for them – and plenty to them. In the service of the Jaffa, she would have likely died sooner rather than later and the girls would have had a future as scullery maids or gods forbid prostitutes to look forward to. There she went again. Teela smiled. Time to stop brooding anyhow.

She took the remaining silver and copper pieces from the top shelf, and after some quick math, took another gold piece. She would go to the money lender on her way to the market. That had taken some getting used to, she thought as she went to wake the girls. Halima drooled on her while she struggled to get her into clothes so new she had hardly had any chance yet to rip them and Sekani, having always taken such things as a challenge, was jumping up and down. They would spent the day at a friend's house, up on the surface. Malek preferred them running around "anywhere but down here".

When Teela returned from up top, she was all out of copper. She stepped out of the crowded elevator, arm full of vegetables, ignored the skeletons standing guard and went on to find Pesh, the moneylender, who strangely enough wasn't in direct employ of the Keeper. He just set up shop down here every day, took in gold, handed out silver and copper, Teela had no idea where he got those from.

Strange how fast you got used to the weirdest of things. Four weeks ago she had counted the days by her work. On firstnight, she could always steal some food in the kitchen of the garrison. Second, there had been that tavern, the "Golden Sun", that always needed some help that evening. Then third, fourth, fifth, and so on. They had been living hand to mouth really, rarely trading for things you could store and trade away again later. Today? Twenty copper for a silver, twenty silver for a gold. A micro piglet cost ten silver, a chicken five, vegetables you could get ranging from a single copper to several, generally speaking cooking yourself was cheaper than eating out, but that was nothing new. Clothes were more expensive of course and you could only get them on the surface, furniture cost even more, mostly because the orders of the Keeper were more important and the time of the workers limited. Services got you metal, metal got you nice things. A pleasant kind of madness.

She had gone from her old lifestyle to this counting of metal bits against her husbands weekly "income" in a surprisingly short space of time though, Teela thought. Already she was looking forward to maybe using their excess coin for something nice once the workshops weren't so fully booked any more. Another metal pan, maybe. They would be able to afford it in a few weeks. Life was strange, wasn't it? Oh! She needed to pick up the chicken! Having someone else do the butchering cost you too, of course, but she really didn't want to do it herself...

Malek returned late, as usual, and go… hrm. _Man_ , did he look tired. She saw him close the door absent mindedly then shamble to their room and collapse onto their large bed. Teela had been fixing Sekani's robe, the girl had managed to rip it somewhere. Now she put aside her sewing kit to attend to her husband, who seemed to be in dire need of some mending too.

She sat down next to him and just stroked his hair for a while. It had been like this for the last few days. Sleep hardly seemed to relax him anymore and he came home looking like death.

"You look like something a dog wouldn't lift his leg at, husband..."

"Oh, Teela, you have no idea..." He laid his head in her lap, took her hand like a drowning man grasping for a branch.

"I have never done so much in a single day. Never written so much – and yet so gracefully. My symbols get better every day. Clearer. My hands get faster and more sure of themselves the more I write in that gods awful place."

"But that's good, isn't it?" he looked up at her as if she had just proclaimed the sky to be green.

"Teela, you don't know what it's like. To hear the whispers every day. To have your mind filled with things and pictures and words that are not your own thoughts. My hands are faster now and more precise, but as long as I work in the library – they are hardly my hands anymore. Sometimes I think I could close my eyes, go to sleep and they would continue without me." he sighed. "Dorn didn't come to work today..."

Okay, that was bad. Teela knew enough about the Keeper that stuff like this probably meant Dorn wouldn't be coming back. "What happened to him?"

"We don't know. He didn't feel good the day before yesterday and by the time we broke for the night the next, he was talking to himself. Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe we just couldn't hear whatever it was he was talking to."

Teela decided it was time to change the subject. "The girls think about you a lot, Malek." it seemed to work. Malek relaxed slightly, his eyes regained some colour.

"The girls! How are they?"

"Like squirrels in spring. Sekani is getting more boyish then I would like, but Halima is as cute as a button still. Do you remember, three weeks ago, when she tasted chicken for the first time? She asks me every day if she can have some. That is your doing, husband. For your family. Once every week we can have meat now. Real meat, not those awful leftover sausages." He seemed to relax under her words now. "When I went to get them, she wanted to visit you at work.." Oops…

"NO!" Aaand there he went. Nice Work Teela. In a second Malek sat next to her, grasping her hand almost painfully now. "Never do that! Teela, you hear me, never! Keep the kids away from the library! Away from…" From him. Yeah, that went without saying. There was a good chance these days, if you went to find Malek, the Keeper wasn't far away and no matter how good everyone had it, the rumours about what he used those teeth for persisted. Still. This husband of hers needed a wakeup call.

"Malek..", she pried his hand free from his grasp and took his head in both hands, gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"You are doing good, husband. The family is save, thanks to you… The kids are happy, they have friends they can play with, they haven't gone to bed hungry for weeks. For weeks! They have clothes, they are warm in the night, we don't have to send them to work. Don't you know how lucky we are?" He slumped again at her soothing words. "You are right. You are right, of course, Teela..." Malek lay down on the bed and pulled her down next to him. "Maybe this really is better. Although I doubt he would have qualms about setting kids to work. They just creep him out, I think."

Teela was speechless for a second, then chuckled. No way that was true...

* * *

 **X-1 day – Dungeon under Bahal – Private Workshop**

"So it's actually heated air? You can hit someone with air as if it was a burning club?" Pictures entered my mind. Air was inhaled into the backside of the oval structure, then an orange flash at the front and the small projectile hurtled away, slower than it would have in reality. The staff weapon fell apart before my eyes and I watched intently as the pieces arrayed themselves around the staff that still represented the middle of it all.

"Yes, yes, I've seen this before…. There. What are those? Those ripped metal cylinders? Coils? What use is a coil that tightly wound…?"

More pictures. More thoughts. Little actual explanations. Ghosts were like that. Unfocused, or maybe just illiterate. I pondered for a while the memories that were now my own, then picked up the crystal pyramid resting on the fine wooden table before me. I appreciated a good piece of craftsmanship and for a rushed job, this was really nice. Unusual design, what with the three legs. Then again, I had been equally surprised to find the crystal I was now holding to form into the shape of this pyramid. I focused my attention on it and the purple haze inside shimmered, which I knew to be the equivalent of a frightened shudder.

Then patterns emerged inside the clear crystal. A whisp of motion, like a snake speeding through water. A pained human face, of all things, screaming silently. I smiled, then tugged the pyramid away in a pouch on my belt. It felt good to wear actual clothes again. Woollen shirt, linen and leather trousers. Not that self made crap I had to make do with before or the improvised armour pieces I had tried to stop the Jaffa's weapon blasts with. The very weapons that Arihes was now describing to me.

It would take a while. Again, the nature of ghosts. They didn't talk, they remembered. They imagined. Dreamed, really. Every now and again you could coax them out of the perpetual nightmare that was their existence, trapped in a phylactery as they were, and make them remember something useful. Only for short times, which could get annoying with a topic of complexity such as this. Soon, the images grew blurry and all that remained was chaos and harsh feelings when the madness reclaimed them.

It had taken me some time, but I had eventually squeezed 'her ladyship' enough to reveal the true nature of the 'Goa'uld', back when she was still alive. Parasites, ruling as pretenders to godhood over who knew how many cities, divided into several kingdoms. I hadn't found any of those yet, then again, this world was as large as any other. Thousands upon thousands of kilometres and I could only claim so much in a month…

I hadn't bothered to try out any of the Ring's addresses yet, both Jaffa and the Goa'uld had provided quite a few, yet there were so many other things to do, and my miserable excuses for craftsmen could not work even the simplest runes into their products. Imbeciles.

"Three weeks! Even the most thick headed, retarded of Trolls would have learned how to runecraft in a matter of three weeks! How can they still not do it?"

In a sudden fit of rage I struck down on the table which shattered under the abuse.

"MALEK!"

"Y-y-y-y-y-yes, Keeper!" The little snivel almost turned his inkwell when he jumped to attention. I glared at him and he quickly steadied it, no drop spilled. He better. That was the result of several hours of work.

"Enough for today! Return to the library! And give notice to the carpenters! I need a new table! Some more silver in the inlays this time!"

"At your command, Keeper! At once!" And off he was. He and the other scribes were busy writing down my knowledge of runecrafting, simple spellwork and mundane constructs, as imparted on them by the library, while Malek had been transcribing what I learned of Arihes. So far, there had been only one casualty with this, a rather fragile old scribe who had cracked under this heavier exposure to my consciousness, and had been reduced to a quivering mess. The others were holding up reasonably so far. I had hopes that some of them at least would turn out to be able to learn some magic of their own and learn to take it, but as long as they held out long enough to transcribe everything, that was really worth it in any case. Finding new scribes should be possible, there were still several thousand humans living in the city overhead, despite me conscripting some new ones every day. Some as warriors, some as scribes, always more as workers. All my libraries had bookshelves now, always a priority, and so the carpenters could now busy themselves outfitting my other rooms. Hatcheries needed fences to keep a semblance of order, and avoid the little shits escaping to defecate all over my dungeon. Stretching racks and breaking wheels made every torture chamber oh so much more useful, beds, because stacking minions wasted less space, dummies for the training rooms and racks for my pilfered weapons. Leather for a million things, shoes, trousers, belts, not to mention whatever armour I would eventually adopt, you could never go wrong with a leather undercoat. Tanning required ammonia and feces, which meant someone had to go fetch both from the sinkhole the plumbing terminated into. To recover from a day of shovelling shit around, I had found nothing helped better than a few pitchers of beer, which of course I had to brew myself now that I had lost access to the underworld. Brewing meant I needed distilleries, and the concept of those had been received with all the enthusiasm the human mind could muster when it came to fermentation. Didn't matter what world, I had yet to find a human community of 10 heads or more where no one had ever tried to find better ways to get drunk out of his mind – and then sell it to the other 9. Soap was apparently needed as well but considered of secondary importance. I needed salts for crystal growing, ceramics and fire proof glass for my pitchers and beakers, fertilizer for the farms, underground or not, greenhouses for spices, alchemical plants and medicine, the list was endless.

But there were surprises too. One of the blacksmiths had actually known a way to customize steel in a way I had ever seen before, something about heat treating the metal with the help of certain chemicals with varying degrees of carbon content, and had himself been rather impressed with my blast furnaces and the purity of my materials. He was playing around with several different elements now to add to the mix, testing, melting, tempering. Nothing substantial so far, but probably worthwhile eventually. In general, the knowledge these people had about the universe was staggeringly low. As far as they were concerned, there were only five elements: Fire, earth, metal, water and finally wood of all things. Seven hells…..

In the long run of course, steel alone wouldn't cut it. As my own experiments in the first nights of actual fighting had shown, ordinary steel, even ordinary ceramics were not tough enough to withstand a staff weapon blast. Naquadah had so far resisted all attempts to smelt it, even though forging it would be barely doable once the automatic hammers went into service, and I needed to alloy it to be able to make my own fire staffs, that much I already knew. Those things had catapulted skeletons from "marginally useful" right up to "really not all that bad" in terms of battlefield competency. I also had my doubts that the Jaffa flying machines could be brought down with bows and arrows unless heavily enchanted, and I shivered in anticipation what a full flight of those things could do to a marching army. Given my natural talents I had never seen all that much sense in acquiring flying machines of my own, but I wanted those things so badly! So many wonderful toys on this world.

Well, later. A lot later, actually. According to Arihes, those were armed with slightly different staff cannons than the ones I already had. More complex for one, for another, for some reason or other, the ones on the "Death Gliders" had an internal reservoir of a specialised liquid to turn into the orange fire that they propelled at their targets. Which was weird, now that I thought about it. He had just shown me that the small staffs could make do with what was literally hot air. Why not do the same with the bigger cannons? And what made those things fly in the first place? I knew the general principle from studying avian predators a long time ago when I had first seen and marvelled at such things. You had to mould the wings in a certain way if if you wanted your machines to stay airborne for any length of time, but the means of propelling them? After the first few images of the engine had crystallized in my mind, I had gaped at even the smallest part in complete incomprehension and then decided to do baby steps first. After punishing Arihes for chuckling at me.

I patted my pet ghost in his pouch and was rewarded with another psychic howl. Hadn't been easy to get this to work either. The dual nature of Goa'uld and human had made it difficult to discern which of the two would actually be caught in the phylactery upon death. I had been simply curious at first, so I had taken some humans, implanted them with some of the leftover eels from the prison and then tried to capture one, then the other, or both ghosts in a crystal as they expired under my admittedly rather inexperienced hands in the torture chamber. Capturing both had proven impossible with my current ritual, one would always get away to the afterlife, while the magic of the torture chamber bound the other as a vengeful spirit under my command, but I had eventually worked out a way to chose which one of the two.

Could have ripped the Goa'uld out first, I suppose, then torture that to death. In fact, now that I thought about it, this situation probably warranted a few new torture devices. They were so small, so my options were limited. Boiling them would probably kill them instantly, stretching might prove tricky as well… but what about sticking them with needles? Breaking them sequentially? Or some sort of grinder, perhaps?

Then again, they lacked the ability of speech in their natural form, so that would take half the sense out of it. If I couldn't distinguish their "Stop, stop, I'll talk!" screeching from their "Oh gods, this hurts!" screech, there really was no point torturing a Goa'uld outside of a host.

The weapons, the gliders, the Chappa'ai, the mineral, there were so many new things to do and to figure out around here. So many new things to see. Arihes had gone ahead and turned the crystal hardening around him into a tetrahedron, of all things. Usually they formed into ovals, or rarely spheres. Elves where very fond of the latter...

"Turns out you really are special. Aren't you, Arihes..? Who would have thought…."

* * *

 **X-2 hours**

I had been out and about, pondering things. Human I was not, with their limited method of perception, still there was something to be said for feeling a creature die beneath your heel instead of just sending a spell it's way from afar and watching it expire. For the same reason I visited the surface every now and again.

Didn't mean I wanted to still be here when the sun came up. I had always thought the intense light of a sun to be uncomfortable. Yet, there was half an hour left or so before sunrise, and if anything, the one I was watching had a vested interest himself to no be out here for much longer.

Urden, my newest minion, was getting himself acquainted with the abilities that came with being a Vampire, his bloodred robe sticking out of the shadows whenever he emerged from one. I had basically given him the choice between this and black, seeing how those were the two hues that were the most easily fashioned at the moment, but I was getting the feeling that for hunting escaped Jaffa in the woods, a robe reaching down to his ankles wasn't the most practical choice of clothing in the first place. Well, he would learn. They couldn't exactly kill him and as long as there were Jaffa in the woods, at least I wouldn't have to worry about feeding him. Yet another reason for not spawning more Vampires. I didn't have the extra blood to sustain them at the moment.

I slowly made my way to a hilltop a kilometre or so away, pondering various things. Maybe now I should go and do some testing with the Ring. I had the time, after all...

* * *

 **X**

As I watched, the metal monstrosity descended upon the ring portal. A hundred metres above the surface it stopped and hovered in place, casting its shadow so far away it might as well not have one. Something detached from the superstructure surrounding the pyramid with a loud clang and several things impacted the ground a few seconds later. Lances made of light speared the places of the impacts shortly thereafter and Jaffa began to step out of the dust those had thrown up. More and more appeared, staffs levelled, then formed into squares below their "chariot", facing the city. As soon as one had stepped out of the dust cloud the impacts had summoned, another light streamed down into it and more Jaffa appeared. How many was this thing carrying? How was it possible to keep something this big afloat? Scratch that, how was it even possible to build a thing such as this? This had to weigh hundreds of thousands of tons, so no way the thing in the middle was a balloon. They didn't have any Imps either, as far as I knew, so how had they even gotten their gods bothering hands on this much metal?

I eyed the moving spheres set into the underside of it suspiciously. Maybe do some testing first. My skeleton army had been marching into position since I had first spotted this thing, the first group had reached the ramparts between the city and the gate, Urden somewhere among them. I ordered him back. The sun was up now. He would not be able to help out here.

The second group had still some hundred metres to go, so I urged them into a run, while a score of Imps expanded the tunnels ahead that were almost, but not quite in the right place.

From my vantage point I saw the Stargate ignite for the first time. First, the triangles lit up with shimmering red light, then a blue whirlwind shot forth from the ring. An honour guard formed in two rows, then out of the blue marched even more Jaffa. Wait, were those Jaffa? No, they had bird heads. So there were some other creatures around here to be had after all.

They were special, in any case, and after the sixth had marched down the pedestal their purpose became clear. A man emerged, his bare head reflected the light of the morning sun and I averted my eyes for a second, snarling at the uncomfortable brightness. His chest was bare as well and a golden cape flew around his shoulders. Six more bird headed bodyguards emerged from the ring behind him, then the blue disappeared with a flash.

I watched with interest as the procession marched towards the eastern gate of the city, a single square of Jaffa split up as they passed it and took position to either side of them, left, right and behind, in a manoeuvre carried out so smoothly it almost looked like flowing water from up here. I loved that discipline the Jaffa had about them. So much of it bled over when they turned….

When they reached what I assumed was shouting distance, the golden leader stopped. I had no idea what he was shouting, of course, I was kilometres away. Not that it mattered.

"Shoot the idiot!" I ordered the skeletons manning the wall, and immediately orange flickered to live. Volley after volley flew from the battlements, most of it hit the intended target – which refused to so much as flinch at the barrage.

"Seven hells, what the…?"

Return fire began to strafe the walls as the hundred or more Jaffa on both sides of the VIP tried to take out my skeletons. They enjoyed only moderate success in this. A skeleton, despite having not enough instinct for self preservation to fill a tankard, made for a relatively small target. Staff blasts taking out some rips only piss them off, pulling off a headshot at this range was rather hard, and if you did manage to squeeze a shot in between the crenelations and hit one In the shoulder, it would just take it's staff in the other hand and continue shooting. I had actually deliberated having them strip out of their armour to make them even smaller targets, but decided against it. It did take some of the heat at least. By now I was loosing some regardless and the constant volleying had taken a toll on the walls itself, but the Jaffa, devoid of any cover whatsoever, were loosing more. And yet, despite repeated hits, that golden sod was still standing.

Movement caught my attention. The chariot was rotating, aligning one edge with the city gate. I raised an eyebrow in anticipation. They were going to do my testing for me, weren't they?

A second later, a series of bright flashes proved me right and the gate was torn asunder in a series of explosions. As if that was not enough, another series of bolts lashed out to demolish the wall for a dozen meters in both directions. Then the army started to advance.

I frowned. It made sense. They had staffs, they had cannons, they had bigger cannons on the gliders, so of course this Behemoth was going to have bigger ones still. A lot bigger, it seemed. That might prove to be a problem.

I eyed the floating fortress. Well, no matter how big the bolts these fired, they couldn't beat me with this, they had to come down for that, sent soldiers, smash their way into my dungeon. And they had made a mistake already. I waited for the squares to reshape themselves as they marched, advancing on the gap of the wall. The vanguard was already inside the city. Not that there was anything left of worth in there, by now everyone had fled underground.

"Aaaaaaand now!"

This was so much more fun to watch from up top, I decided, as a chasm opened up beneath the Jaffa and swallowed a dozen rows. I had expected something to come from the gate, although not quite like this, and thus had had it surrounded with subterranean ramparts for my warriors to march to the surface on and pitfalls my Imps could open up from below. A good part of the army just disappeared as the support struts were cut and the ground collapsed beneath their feet, and their fellows at the edge got immediately peppered with staff blasts coming from out of the darkness below. Then my own warriors emerged, charging. That would increase my casualties somewhat, as even a missed shot now had the very good chance to hit someone in the next row, but I needed to get into close range so those cannons couldn't tear them apart. I made a mental note to make large shields for the front rows to carry. I couldn't melt Naquadah yet, but forge welding or at least riveting should be possible.

I eyed the city. Fighting had erupted there too, with skeletons firing from the questionable safety of clay huts at whoever had made it to the walls. Jaffa casualties were mounting here too, since the chariot's barrage had not so much toppled the wall as it had pulverized it, thereby destroying quite a bit of cover.

For a moment I played with the thought of taking part, maybe throwing some fireballs into the mix from here, but quickly called myself an idiot for the very idea. Sure, I could do considerable damage, but a single one of those big bolts would pretty much dust me and then my dungeon would shut down until evening again. By that time this many troops could very well have slaughtered their way through all my minions and devastated my dungeon here. I wasn't about to sacrifice a month of work for a few seconds of fun. There was a time and a place for that, sure, but this was neither. A patch of dirt next to me mysticized and an Imp head peeked out, only to shriek back in terror as it glanced the sun. I hopped down, strode along the tunnel this one and three more had dug towards me. After a few metres the hill began to tremble as I channelled my magic into it and the corridor collapsed behind me. Couldn't very well give them a back entrance, now could I? Then I jumped into an Imp, ordered the others to follow and hurried along with my little escort. It was time to get into the thick of it.

* * *

 **Dungeon under Bahal – Servant Quarters**

"Teela! Oh, thank the gods!"

"Malek! What is going on?" What was that tremor?"  
"Lord Ra has arrived to take back Bahal! The Keeper is engaging his Jaffa, everyone is fleeing into the Deeper Dungeons. Get the girls, you have to leave!"

"What? But..."

"Now! Follow the Imps, they are leading everyone down into the deep tunnels."

"Tunnels! Malek what are you talking about? Surely it is more save here…?"

"No! This is to near the surface. The Keeper fears the fighting will spill into the tunnels and our doors will not hold against staff weapons. I don't want you here when it all goes down. Now go, all of you."

"You are not coming with us?"

"I… can't… Not yet. I have things to..."

"Malek! You are a scribe, not a warrior! Your place is with us!"

"I need to go, Teela. The Keeper has ordered us to secure the contents of the library."

"WHAT! Books? You are running towards an army of Jaffa for boo.. Malek, you….!"

"Teela! Teela, he would know. I can't…. I have to heed his commands, or..."

"…!"

"Go, love. Follow the others. Take my heart with you, so I will find you again."

* * *

 **Ha'tak "Twilight of Malk'Shur" - Pel'tak**

"The enemy is retreating, My Lord Abtu! Lord Neth declares victory!"

"Victory! Ha..!" Abtu cracked his knuckles against one another. "Tell him to get going and pursue! Where did those warriors even come from?"

"Lord Neth reports there is a network of tunnels. They emerged from the ground, and he chased them back into it."

Tunnels? It couldn't be… them? Here? They hadn't opposed Ra this openly since the dawn of their misbegotten movement… But who else wielded the Goa'ulds' own weapons and dug into the ground like moles? Open combat, who would have thought.

"Subterranean scan! Show me where they are hiding!" A few seconds later, Abtu was very impressed by what he saw. A network indeed. Large tunnels, vast empty caverns, interconnected pathways, thousands of life forms scurrying about – and that was only as deep as his sensors would penetrate. This had to be the biggest Tok'Ra base ever discovered! The miners had probably spooked them as they dug down further, forcing them to act.

"This must be big enough to hold all of them! What a price!"

"Mylord! Lord Neth reports heavy resistance in the tunnels! He sounds rather…. Agitated!"

"Tell him to fall back and secure the Stargate! None of them must escape! Raise the ship by 500 metres. We will collapse their rat's nest from up here!"

"...Mylord! The city! The mine!"

"A city full of traitors, if they haven't fought, or weaklings if they let such ilk defeat them! If any of them is still alive, none deserves our concern!"

But the mine…. that was another matter. Bahal had suffered quite a bit already by the looks of it and Gheb had sent him here to restore Naquadah production, not vaporize what remained of it. Much as he hated it, his gunner had a point…

"Get us up higher, 500 above the city centre, Neth is to secure the gate, then enter the city and subdue any resistance. Gunner! Small arms to support the troops! Bombard anything outside the city parameter with heavy bolts. I want those Tok'Ra buried!"

* * *

 **Bahal prison complex**

"This is it", he thought. The tremors. Orbital bombardment to flush them out, then crush them like bugs. This was the time.

He flashed a grimace at a nearby Imp. Some of the little monsters, smaller brothers to the Axe Demons, always lingered around the place, grinning, taunting, laughing. Not any more.

The creature grimaced back. Come on. One step closer. Now! He catapulted himself against the bars, reached through and grabbed the little pest. As he pulled it closer, his brothers sought to help.

"Hold him!" "Get the pick!" "Kill it! Kill it!"

A chorus of voices, fed by weeks of captivity. Of humiliation. Of impudence! None of that mattered now. He had the pick. His key to freedom and revenge. Finally.

"Brothers!" He broke his shackles with a single stroke, than held the instrument up high. "Our Lord has arrived! Justice will be done! Vengeance will be ours! Shake off your chains and let us be free of this place!"

A roar of half a hundred voices answered him. He went ahead and freed every single one, then struck the lock apart himself. Out they stormed, righteous rage and twisted metal bars their only weapons. But Vatir of Hebron was back were he belonged. Leading warriors to victory!

* * *

 **Deep under Bahal – An hour later**

They had reached the elevators faster than I would have thought possible. Then again, with artillery support like this, I should not be surprised. Whenever my skeletons fired upon the enemy Jaffa, their hiding place went up in a plume of dust, smoke and fire. I had switched tactics then, grouped them together and sent them charging into the invaders. That would end with them in pieces too, but overall had worked a lot better. And now that they were pouring into my tunnels by the dozens, the game would change. The tunnels outside the city were straining under the constant rain of bolts more powerful than I had imagined that thing being capable of sending against them. The tremors could be heard all the way here and already I was loosing minions to cave-ins. Precious, precious knowledge imparted on them, lost forever, my time with them wasted, my plans delayed.

I kicked a charred Jaffa skull hard enough to dislodge it from it's spine, then continued down the corridor, fingers still crackling with lightning. In my pouch, Arihes was practically dancing, which he would be regretting later, up ahead I could feel my second major asset approaching.

"Urden. How goes the hunt?"

" _Delicious, Master…. Most delicious…."_ He smiled, his teeth red for a change. _"Though I don't like the look of these weapons… They are slow…. Unsuited for the tunnels….. But the light…."_

Bugger. Don't tell me…

"Have they hit you yet?"

Urden tilted his head, then raised his hands forming an an open circle. He looked almost insulted. Still. This was potentially bad. Killing Vampires was notoriously hard. You could slash them, burn them, hack them to pieces, usually they came out of it hardly any worse for wear. Technically, they weren't alive in the first place.

I felt like banging someone's head against the nearby wall but kicked another skull instead. Amongst the few things that _could_ kill a Vampire permanently, sunlight was top of the list. Half the Jaffa had worshipped this Ra, who might or might not be the god of the sun, with a fanaticism that would have done a Dark Angel proud. One of them had claimed that their staffs fired a piece of his magic, that they were actually fuelled by sunfire. I doubted this to be true, having talked to Arihes, but I couldn't be sure! Usually at this point, I would have shoved a Vampire in the way of a firing squad and told him not to flinch, but I couldn't do that in this case. Because Vampires were walking dead, they couldn't be healed, their wounds instead slowly disappeared. Damage inflicted through holy weapons or sunlight however, didn't heal at all. So I couldn't just test this. Not now. I only had the one.

Another particularly strong tremor sent a ripple through the wall and a crack spread along the bricks faster than the eye could see. Well, later. Time for damage control.

" _Master. The Intruders…Your orders…?"_ The whisper dripping with barely concealed anticipation and hunger.

"Go. Hunt. Secure the areas around the elevators to the deeper levels. They must not discover or tell of them! I will collapse the elevator to the city, then kill any I can find."

Urden, with one arm across his chest and the other across his back, bowed, took a step back and vanished. The last thing I saw of him was a rather satisfied grin before the shadows swallowed the Vampire whole.

Well, that was that problem taken care of. Deep below thousands of Imps, pulled back from all nearby operations, were hard at work digging out several large stairways, spiralling down deeper and deeper into the earth. The enemy had some scrying ability after all, and unexpectedly they also had the upper hand in fire power to a ridiculous degree. But they would not catch me underground. Let them rain fire on Bahal from their flying fortress. If I had to, I would dig down until I reached the burning bowels of the planet and collapse the tunnels behind me. Let's see them blast their way down there!

Now to find some more Jaffa to went my anger on and play a little charade. Maybe I shouldn't collapse the elevator after all. Maybe, in a few hours, when sunset was close, I should allow them to "kill" me. Sure, that would pause the digging, but it would also kill all the lights, if I cut the conduits from the batteries. See if that convinced them of their victory against me. Not that I liked the idea all that much but it appealed to me way more than fighting an uphill battle against an unending enemy, with 1 Vampire and my Combat Imps as my only assets while my humans multiplied. That would take decades! No. Better to swallow my pride and lull them into a false sense of security.

I strode towards one of the smaller patrols intruding upon my territory, conjuring as I went.

I could wait, Lord of the Sun!

I could ride this out!

I would get you yet!

* * *

 **Akhett-Aten – Throne world of Ra**

It was night outside, not that the city cared. Aton, capital of the Galaxy, home of the Supreme System Lord, never slept. The single largest population of both bonded Goa'uld, human slaves and Jaffa in the Galaxy filled this world, lifting it high above any other. Tithes from hundreds of minor Goa'uld, from all System Lords made their way here in an unending stream, fuelling the fires of the factories, as well as the hunger of both the shipyards and those who toiled away in them.

For eons Aton, nay, the entire planet had prospered under his stewardship. But no more. Amun smiled. He had been a Slave to Ra in all but name, really. No more, never again! As he ascended the stairs to the throne, he felt the years of humiliation drift away, the insults cleansed from his mind as the artificial, shadowless light of the chamber washed over him. No one had seen Ra for six months. No one had heard from him for four. It was him, Amun, who had finally found the remains of his pleasure barge in the Abydos system three weeks ago, and he had been planning this moment ever since. Finally at the top of the stairs, he turned around, raised his hands and basked in the glory as the light flared up, cloaking him in brightness, forcing everyone present but him to shield his eyes. Manipulating the machines of the throne had been the easiest part. He had replaced administrators and Ha'tak Captains, executed known spies he no longer needed tolerate, created new titles and bribed both minor and major lords. All in the name of Ra.

No More.

"Hear me! Ra is gone! Amun is no more! From this day on until the end of eternity, Amun-Ra shall rule." He touched the hidden ring on his armband and the Ear-rings he wore unfolded into the double crown that had always been his birthright.

"Hail, Amun-Ra", the chamber erupted. "God of the Galaxy! Supreme System Lord!"

Amun, once High Lord of the Ogdoad, once slave to Ra, would be servant no longer.

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 **It has to be said….**

 **Preon-Class –** _As far as I know, there are no different "classes" of Ha'tak. There are the flagships, there is Ra's pleasure barge and then there is that one version that we never got to see, because a super powered SG-1 destroyed it in dry dock. Ha'taks are Jack-of-all-trades, they carry troops, cargo and Death Gliders, are both warships, carriers and troop transports. I just thought it stood to reason that some Goa'uld might specialize some of their fleet, to be better at certain things than the average ship of the line, and the idea would spread over time (we are talking thousands of years after all). I am not actually contradicting anything in the series here, but it doesn't support the idea either. The Preon is meant to be a large troop carrier, more than anything else, it thus sacrifices most of it's carrier abilities (but not all), relying mainly on the ship itself for fire support. It really isn't necessary, but it just popped into my head and it sounded so nice…_

 ** _ **Ha'taks**_** _– Goa'uld Motherships are rather large bastards. They get roflstomped in the later seasons, so we as science fiction fans tend to marginalize them. According to a Stargate SG1 DVD commentary, the tetrahedron in the middle is 300 meters high, that is about the length of a "Gerald R. Ford" super carrier, the biggest warship build by man IRL, a warship that weighs 100.000 metric tons and took 4 years to build – and built it was by highly trained professionals with lots of specialized equipment, not by slaves living in hovels….._

 ** _Ha'tak fire power_** _– In the last episodes of the first season, Alternate Carter mentions that the "blasts on the east coast were the equivalent of 200 Megatons nuclear warheads". Since the ships in the same story arc also shrugged off a 1000 megaton nuke, which seems to make overall sense, I tend to go with that number. (Of course that also means that Death Gliders do exactly zilch to Ha'tak shields, their weapons, as seen in the show, are not even in the kiloton range). 200 Megatons of boom, for the uninitiated, would burn anything in a hundred kilometre radius nice and crispy, and if you went closer than 4 km, no one would find enough of you to bury. And yet SG1 has seen some close up and lived to tell the tale. So it stands to reason that A) Ha'tak have some smaller guns o_ _ _r B) The yield of those things is variable. Won't make a difference for this story either way, both would explain some of what we saw on screen.__

 ** _Classical elements_** _ _– Several systems exist, trying to explain the nature of all things. All equally wrong as far as we know. Fire, earth, metal, water and wood are the Chinese subset.__

 _ ** _Malk'Shur_**_ _ _– We never learned what that bit in Jolinar's name meant, did we?__

 ** _Abtu & Neth_** _ _– Abtu & Anet are two mythological beasts, fish, that accompany Ra on his daily journey across the skies, both guarding and warning him.__

 ** _Amun_** _ _– One of the oldest Gods in Egyptian mythology. Husband to Amaunet. *wink*__

 ** _Amun-Ra –_** _ _more or less a fusion of two gods into one, said gods being Amun and Ra. Maybe they felt they had enough gods already?__

 ** _Aton_** _ _– Apparently an attempt by Pharaoh Amenhotep IV. to install monotheism. Aten or Aton was supposed to be the only god the Egyptians would henceforth need. Didn't last very long.__

 ** _Akhett-Aten_** _ _– Akhetaten, a city build in the middle of the desert by the same Pharaoh to become the new Egyptian capital. Didn't last very long either.__

 ** _Ogdoad_** _ _– The original eight Egyptian Gods, who basically made themselves when there was nothing.__

 ** _Naquadah_** _ _– We don't actually know all that much about Stargate's resident flavour of applied phlebotinum, other than that it does whatever the plot demands, is very heavy and probably not radioactive (radioactivity results in an element falling to pieces over time. I have no idea how they determined the age of the Antarctica Stargate, but if the stuff WERE radioactive, the Stargate would have taken itself apart over a period of 50 million years. Either that or it's up there with Tellurium-128….).__

 _ _One question though: If Naquadah is such a good heat/energy sink with a tendency for critical existence failure if you pump in too much – how do you melt the stuff without it exploding?__

 ** _Mining_** _ _– Nowadays, mostly anything that rolls, flies, crawls or creeps about a battlefield is somehow made of iron – or steel more precisely, but steel is an alloy that is composed of mostly iron anyway (usually in excess of 95%, plus a small percentage of carbon and some other choice materials).__

 _ _Iron ore, good iron ore that is, contains about 40% iron, which means, taking aforementioned numbers into account, for every ton of Steel you need to dig your merry way through 2,375 tons of rock – that's about half a cubic meter of bedrock, and that's only if you have already found a vein… With the aforementioned "drilling speed" of Imps, aka 1.4 km per day, assuming the tunnels the little buggers dig are about 80×100 = 800 cm², that's about 115 m³ per day, or 230 tons of Iron.__

 _ _230__ _ _t__ _ _per day means 84.000 tons per year (still only one Imp). For comparison, modern Germany mines about 400.000 tons of iron every year – which is not actually all that much – and a modern steelworks produces about 100.000 tons of steel in the same time (enough to forge an awful lot of swords...).__

 _ _Where am I going with all this and why should you care?__

 _ _Well, the real production bottleneck is not the Imps, but the guys in the workshop. Just imagine for a moment, if you will, a storehouse that fills with 230 tons of iron every day (that's a cube with 3m side length, btw. almost as heavy as 4 "Leopard 2" Main Battle Tanks. Because more numbers...). How long do you think it would take even a hundred blacksmiths, armed with a hundred more helping workers and pack mules to carry all that stuff to and fro the smelters, never mind actually turn it into steel first and then into something useful? Could probably be done but would be one hell of a caravan, and that is just what one Imp would mine.__

 _ _And then of course, most star ships in Stargate aren't even made of something as mundane as iron based steel but instead of Naquadah/Trinium/Carbon/whatever…__

* * *

 _ _ **Afterword…**__

 _ _ **Death of Breads**__ _ _–__ _ _I have a special place in my heart for the Horned Reaper, and a special place for him in this story.__ _ _I just hope it will play out as badass on paper as it does in my head.__

 _ _ **WarmasterSamiel**__ _ _– Somehow after this, I cannot get the image of two vast armies facing off get out of my head…__

 _ _ **In regards to footnotes:**__ _ _I have been writing these little (or not so little in case of this chapter) annotations to concepts that I think might confuse some readers if I left them out. I don't want the footnotes to do the storytelling – although that can be fun too – but I want to give you some information about my thought processes.__


	6. Chapter 5 - Innovation

**Chapter 5 – Innovation**

The sun was burning down on the mass of people gathered under the watchful gaze of annoyed, sweating Jaffa guards. They had arrived here over the last few days, from different places. Some had left family behind, some had been farmers on another planet, some had never been in a crowd this immense before. They all could see the Jaffa before them, who stood on a wooden dais, flanked by two more of his kin. Behind him, high in the air, floated a giant, golden "Eye", proof beyond doubt they said of the divinity they claimed their masters possessed. The slaves wouldn't know. None of them had ever seen a Goa'uld, none of them really cared. The Jaffa were the face of the gods to them, were the boot up their arse and the whip on their back. When they said to pack up and go somewhere else, the slaves obeyed. They knew better than to object and quite frankly, this place didn't seem so bad. No caustic winds, no toxic dust, no giant, man eating spiders. The first tents had already gone up, fires were burning, meals were cooking while they awaited their first orders. Or a speech, as it now looked like.

He waited to see the mettle of this one. Over the years he had learned to judge Jaffa overseers by the length of the speeches they liked to give. Some liked to hear the sound of their own voices. Some liked the sound of the whip more. Three guesses to which type he preferred…

"Listen up, slaves! For my whip is thirsty and my patience thin!" Oh, yeah, this seemed to be one of the former…

"I have been told you come from all over the sector, from a hundred places on a dozen worlds. Places, the names of which I do not know, nor do I care to. Better for you to do alike, to forget them as well, you will never return there anyway. You are here now! No matter what world you were born on, what wench brought you into it, you are here now! This is the place! You will work here! You will obey! Here! I am Vatir of Hebron, and as far as you are concerned, I am Master of this world. I command the Jaffa in the name of Master Aemon, to further the cause of our lord, the eternal Amun-Ra! It is through me you will hear his words! Through me you will feel his wrath!

Behind you, I can see the reason why we hold the whip and you taste the lash." He looked behind him, as the Jaffa expected them to do. Looked at the few tents they had managed to erect. Let him have his satisfaction. The more of that this type got, the less inclined they usually were to actually hurt you, no matter how deluded they were. He had no idea where the overseers slept, but he was reasonably sure, if they had houses and beds, they had not build either themselves. It wasn't as if a Jaffa knew the front end of a tool from the back.

"Behind me, you see the price for disobedience! For Treason! Your kin thought the taste not to their liking! They sought to break away, to slay the Jaffa and to oppose the will of the heavens! To stand against their god! Against us who enforce his will! I stand here as living evidence of the futility of such actions! They Failed. Their punishment was death! The great chariots of the gods razed the city they rallied, burned the traitors and buried them together with their misbegotten claims."

Ah, slave rebellion, that explained the ruins. Pretty large one if they had to call in the big guns. Probably was one hell of a mess to clean up, too… Bugger. That meant no moving into the ruins. They would have to camp out here until they could clear enough of the rubble out. He didn't have a tent…

"Know this! Remember this! With every house you rebuild, every chunk of ore you gather, every lash you sample. This is your fate! This, not the backwater you came from, is the place where you will spend the rest of your lives! This is Bahal! One way or another, this is the place you die!"

Gods… This one really liked to talk...

* * *

 **Somewhere deep underground**

Sometimes tinkering helped me forget. Focus my mind on a piece of difficult spellwork, a set of intricate mechanics, or just a situation utterly borked yet not beyond saving. A puzzle of sorts. This particular puzzle I had just lost of course. Well, almost, I was still alive after all. The unexpectedly heavy counter attack had deprived me of nothing of value, really, my holdings on the surface were easily replaced, the ore veins were plentiful down here, human losses had been reasonable. Even wood was acquired easily enough – by digging a small tunnel to the surface a hundred kilometres away in a dense forest. Far enough not to be noticed and it bound a serious amount of manpower. A caravan, men, some of the oxen, then of course some of the wood was needed to make carts to ferry the trees. Food and water. Time. All! Just! To get! Some flippin'! Wood! The carving knife in my hand bend out of shape under my grip and I threw it at the wall, where it stuck. Nothing lost at all at Bahal. Only my pride, but boy did that hurt. It was at these times that I wished my dental anatomy would allow me to grind my teeth.

I pulled the knife out between the tiles where it had wedged itself, then threw it on a pile with the other garbage. That was maybe the most obvious difference between my dungeon and a human settlement. They all lived pretty much in their own excrements while I had a rather handy way of disposing of everything. Once a day, an Imp just "erased" the entire garbage pile. Metals went back to the vaults, wood went the way of all things mortal. On this note, I remembered a thesis a warlock of mine had once written about "The comparative anatomy of Gnarling kin, with emphasis on the Goblin tribes of Modan". What exactly Modan was I had no idea, presumably his home city, but he had mentioned, at one point, that goblins were far to similar to humankind to be engineered from anything else. They were cruel, self centred, hedonistic and if you wanted them to clean up, you had to threaten disembowelment. Of course, the Warlock had taken this as a mirror example, to emphasize the heights man could rise to when and if he controlled his base instinct, but personally? More often than not, I didn't see the difference. Although I had to admit, my current lot was well behaved and used more water than I would have liked for cleaning purposes. As if it wasn't enough trouble keeping the money circulating, now I had to worry about the plumbing…

I took another knife and finished the runes in the last of the obsidian pillars. Now all they needed was the silver inlay. Naquadah or Platinum would make for a better conduit, but one was ridiculously hard to get into form, the other was incredibly rare. Still, the bigger version of this would probably need the properties of the "star-metal", if I really wanted to shoot down the big pyramid vessels. Hm… maybe I could cold press it…

Just like that, the anger flowed from my mind like water as I submerged myself in a new mystery. Carving the three obsidian pillars had been a pain, the glass like properties of the material meant that if it cracked it tended to crack all the way through. Cutting the general shape had been easy, but getting the runes into it, now that had been a challenge. The knife went back into the box and I took the parchment notes I had made for the spell, giving them a look over.

The principle of the thing was neither new nor was it all that hard. Just plain weird. The fire staffs propelled a mass carrying fireball at the intended target, which a month ago I would have thought beyond crude. I conjured up my preferred version instead and a small blue ball of fire flickered to life a hand span above my left index finger. An ethereal spell, no mass involved, it was a Mana burning mass of magic, a finely tuned, intricate construct of boundless potential. A highly effective tool of slaughter, the thing was basically a spell written on the fabric of creation and everything about it, from the colour to the effect was closely defined in this spell. Despite the appearance, it was entirely possible to have such a thing electrocute or freeze a target, though why anyone would go to the trouble was beyond me.

The blue whisp whisked out as was my command. The fire staffs were a different kind of animal. Those super heated a tiny amount of matter, propelled it forward in a container and then, upon impact simply released said containment, leaving fire and high pressure to do their thing. I could do the same, had a few mass carrying spells myself, just that I usually didn't bother. In a case like this, the spell would be written on the material instead, a ball of iron for example, thus creating something very akin to ammunition for the mage in question, but when you used air for it, you couldn't really do that, now could you. I had used winds before. Super heated or under cooled they made effective weapons. A little hard to control and usually prone to cause some collateral damage, but if widespread carnage was what was needed... Mass carrying spells had advantages over their more sophisticated brethren, sure enough. A piece of metal the size of a fingernail could burn a man to ash if hot enough – or make him explode if you pushed it in deep. They were usually more destructive for less concentration. But they were also incredibly volatile. Heating matter to a degree that made it useful made the stuff want to go and explode all on its own more often than not, most of the spellwork post ignition thus had to be focussed on keeping it together – which made the exploding part at the end rather tricky when you did too good a job at it. But I had to give the eels credit for ingenuity. In all my years never had I tried using magnetic fields for the holding together part.

It was so counter intuitive. Treating air as matter for starters. Stone was matter, water was a liquid, and air was just… air. Yes, you could turn water into steam, but I had always seen that as turning it into a myriad of droplets, so small they floated around for a bit – like very fine dust. And ice… well honestly I had never thought about it. Ice was ice. Metal melted and solidified, it was just how the world was… The idea of phase transitions, of three states of matter was a lot to take in, even after a week of doing some experiments. I had turned air into a "liquid" and stone into a "gas" yet still I found myself struggling to comprehend the concept. And then Arihes went ahead and threw it all out of the window claiming that at this temperature, when it all turned to "Plasma", none of it really made a difference anymore. Still, air wasn't magnetic. Shouldn't be. Most metals weren't either, and even those which were lost the ability at certain temperatures. So why, Nemesis, why could you control fireballs with magnetic fields? Arihes had tried to tell me, had shown me graphs and diagrams and statistics, numbers and numbers and more numbers. A hundred years worth of memories from this weird creature that was as old as a high elf and I didn't understand a quarter of it.

But it worked. Seven hells, it worked. This construct, these three curved claws of frozen flames rising from the surface of the spell plate, big and cumbersome as they were, would take whatever was supplied as ammunition, be it a stone, a breath of air or a squirrel, which would then be heated, heated, heated, until it formed a miniature sun rising through the triangle formed by the tips, ready to incinerate a target of my choosing. I had to aim manually for the prototype and the spellwork was still experimental, crude, but even so, it was the single most impressive cannon I had ever designed. I would have been giddy about it too, if it wasn't for the fact that it weighed ten times as much as a staff, was fifteen times as unwieldy and would need to be stationary. And gods knew if I could make it powerful enough…

* * *

 **Ruins of Bahal**

Boy, was he glad he wasn't among the guys tasked with transporting the Chappa'ai, he thought as he took a sip from his calabash-canteen, then quickly returned to his own work. He hadn't tasted a whip in years and didn't intend to break the record now, this world was far too warm and nice for nursing burning back pains. Brick by brick, roof tile by roof tile, broken wall segment by broken wall segment they were cleaning out the place. At first, they had just cleared a path to and from the future resting place of the ring, were yet another work crew had dug a hole and laid the brick foundation for a new dais, though what was wrong with the current one he had no idea. With a smile he took another big clay fragment and heaved it onto the ox driven cart. "Metal rings for the gods, oxen for the people. Taste better, that's for sure..." Granted, the rings probably smelled better.

When it was full, he watched the cart go off and trotted back to one of the few buildings that was still standing. Only it wasn't a building, not really. Small, squarish, each side about fifteen paces long, it had walls, it had a roof, but the single "room" it was composed of – moved. Up and down a shaft. No one knew why, no one knew how, but that was usually the case when the gods were involved, two of which had fawned over this thing for two days before clearing it for use, presumably they had repaired it. Or blessed it or whatever. Now, whenever you pressed the wand tile with the yellow painted rune, it moved up when you were down in the mine, down when you were up on the surface, and it was so big it could transport a whole lot of ore. Or stone at the moment. The mines had not been spared the wrath of the gods either, or so he had been told. A lot of the tunnels had collapsed, walls and ceilings were cracked, rubble everywhere. Another job he was glad of not having. Breaking down boulders while praying to the gods to not make the roof collapse on you. He was content emptying the "lift", as they called it, whenever it came up. Ah, speak of the devil, break time was over.

Under the watchful eyes of the Jaffa who manned the contraption – nice job that, standing in there and pressing a glowing rune – they carried and pulled and heaved the boulders and stones and barrels full of rubble out, then watched the lift descend down into the darkness again. Yesterday someone had looked after it and fallen into the pit, stupid idiot. Probably given the Jaffa in the carriage a scare though. He grinned under his burden and continued on to the drop off point.

Over a meal that consisted mostly of oat and water, they later shared what measly stories the day had brought so far. Yesterday had been more fun, of course, with the accident and all, but today was off to a good start too. Apparently, someone had gone missing again in the eastern camp. Three men had not reported to their overseer this morning, who had reported that to the Jaffa in question, who had then ordered a whipping for everyone but the guy doing the reporting. Pretty standard thing, happened every now and again, especially on a world this nice. He had given it some thought as well, "disappearing" seemed worthwhile here. Lush, green vegetation, no nasty critters so far, lax security. The latter would change the longer they remained here. The more the Jaffa got their act together, the more the camps acquired a sense of order, the less opportunities he would get to taste freedom again. But he was no fool. He knew nothing of this world. Nothing of the seasons, what plants to eat, what animals to fear. It was too soon. He knew something else though. They hadn't sent out search parties yet. What his fellow workers saw as an opportunity, as a chance, he knew was nothing of the sort. The closer night drew, the twitchier the Jaffa became. They had not made them work overtime once so far, and they stuck very close to their own camp-fires after the sun went down. The green was deceptive. Something was out there, in the night, making Jaffa shit their armoured pants. He told the others as such and suddenly everyone turned around with a shiver, to get a look at the tree line. Good thing he was from the southern camp.

In the evening worked continued, though not without him getting a well aimed slap to the face from the girl handing out and collecting the bowls. Sure, he was probably not the only one who hit on her, but she didn't have to smile and wink at him after. Maybe he should try and find her after late meal.

This time, he was sent into the mines, luck finally running out. He took it with stride. Keep away from the deeper tunnels, he knew that. No one returned from the deeper tunnels. Be wary of cracked ceilings, well, he could have guessed that one. Just carry what they told you to, drop it where they said it to and run when they ran, only faster. He would be fine. Except when he wasn't.

When the ground started shaking, he didn't wait for anyone to start running, he flung the stone he was carrying to the side and exploded forward. But it was to late. A crack in the wall raced, then overshot him with an awful noise, struck the ceiling ahead, which promptly collapsed, nearly burying him. He pedalled back in the perpetual twilight of the smokeless torches, avoiding falling rocks and running workers both. Then the floor gave out under all of them.

When he came to, his leg hurt somewhat fiercely. That along with his last memories was enough to shake him wide awake. Among the things he needed like a second arsehole, a broken leg was pretty near top of the list. Crippled slaves usually didn't live all that long. A second later he was relieved to note that it was just one of the others lying on his foot. That was uncomfortable, probably for both of them, but it had just woken him. Also easily corrected. He stood up and tested his leg, then noticed he was the first to rise. Curious, not even a bruise, was the next thing he noticed, followed by the fact that there was no hole in the ceiling. But there were bars for a door, just a metre to the side. What had happened? Why were the Jaffa keeping him prisoner? No wait, something was probably wrong with that sentence.

He didn't go for the bars to check the outside. He had never been in a cell, but he was smart enough to know what this was. And sticking out had never served anyone well. So he sat back and waited for the others to awake, less for strength in numbers and more to have a crowd to hide in. that always worked. Only his luck apparently hadn't recharged yet. A man appeared in the door. The bars retreated into the ground to the sides to let him pass, then snapped back up behind him. They looked at each other for a few seconds, giving him time to muster the not-jailer. He was too scrawny for that. He was also carrying a stack of parchment.

"My name is Malek. You are well, I presume?"

"Better than I expected, anyways. Where is this?"

"Not far from the mines, actually. Just a lot further down. And no, you are not dead."

"Yeah, thanks, I kinda figured that one out myself."

"It may surprise you how often I have to answer that question. Not that I know why. Can't figure why anyone would want to go to a place like this after they die..."

"You... are the rebels, aren't you? The ones who lived in Bahal?"

"Most of us, yes. Alive and well, though 'rebels' is a bit off. We are working for a… different master now, not that we had much of a choice. A master that has no love for either the Jaffa or the Goa'uld, by the way. We are a little short on manpower."

"They told us you were all dead..."

"I am not surprised, they gave it their best effort. But most of us, as I said, survived the purge. We fled down here. It was pretty rough the first few days, as I am sure the others will be able to tell you, but you won't believe how fast the Imps are at boring tunnels – or collapsing them, for that matter. Which brings us to you..."

"You are the reason no one returns from the deeper tunnels", he suddenly realized. "You are the 'monsters' that keep snatching people..." He had meant it as a figure of speech, but Malek still twitched as if he had been pricked with a needle.

"More or less… we have been recruiting from the workforce up top pretty much since you came through the gate. A few people here and there, nothing serious. The Keeper mainly does it to keep them on their toes."

"So they will break easier when he goes all out..." Malek nodded.

"Well, its working. The Jaffa are scared even stiffer than usual when night comes. I have heard one new horror story every night trying to explain why this world was entirely empty when we arrived..."

"Trust me, no matter what you heard, none of it comes close to the truth..."

"If you say so… So you are not going to kill me then, I take it?" The big question.

"Depends on you. We really need the extra hands, no matter what you can do, though mostly we need help in the workshops. You could start as someone's apprentice or start on your own, if the chief thinks you are good enough. The Imps do most of the heavy lifting, so you won't be lugging stone around anymore."

"That is a big plus already..." 'Malek' gave him a weak smile.

"Nominally, you get the same choice we got. Work for the Keeper or don't, but I trust you to know what kind of a choice it is. Whatever your answer, you won't get out of here any time soon. Not before He says so." Figured. Well, that only left two important questions.

"The food any good?"

"Better than anything up top, I'd venture."

"Women?"

"I'm married, I wouldn't know."

"Good enough. Where do I sign?"

* * *

 **Dungeon Heart, Sunset.**

The little weasel! "Careful!", he says. "Just a little bit of it". A little bit of it my freshly conjured arse! I growled and stepped down from the crystal of the heart, then set about resummoning the Imps. It hadn't been long this time, maybe two hours, and the Mana Batteries had been hooked up, so the automated functions, lights, prisons, workshop smelters of the dungeon had continued to function after my temporary demise. The exploding workers would have been noticed of course, but most knew better than to ask stupid questions, and whoever did not, didn't bother me and asked Malek instead. Malek, who was the only one who knew this little tidbit of information about me and thus was the only one who knew what had happened. He was still more than an hour of sprint-by-Imp away, so any detailed report he was undoubtedly compiling right about now would have to wait. But for now, since I finally had enough of a dungeon to actually sense it, I sat upon doing just that. While my body was in transit to my private quarters, where a couple of sets of spare clothes and armour awaited, I felt into the mess Arihes had conned me into creating. And suddenly became very solemn. The Imp would now have to go to the nearest armoury, because my quarters were simply gone. Gone, as was the workshop that was attached to them, gone, to be replaced by a rather large cavern in the bedrock! I had seen holes like these before. They occurred when a large, a very large explosion happened underground. Powerful enough to push everything outward, stone, soil, bedrock, not to mention furniture and experiments and valuables, hot enough to vaporize some of it, liquefy some more and burn whatever remained. When the matter cooled, the spherical hole cracked all over, the ceiling collapsed and whatever wasn't yet incinerated or smashed or otherwise broken got buried under tons and tons of rubble, leaving a funnel like crater much like the one I could observe right there. Just a drop of the green glowing liquid powering the staff weapons. Just one drop, used in my prototype had done this. I couldn't feel my pet ghost anywhere, so the explosion had presumably destroyed the crystal and allowed the spirit to move on to whatever afterlife awaited parasitic eels, but seven hells, how could anything that small and plain be this destructive?

Ah, screw it…. I would deal with this later. "Malek! Have a couple of human guards meet me at the tunnel going to the Stargate! I will be there in an hour!" I sent the message through the aether towards my chief minion. They couldn't answer me In kind, though most answered anyway. Force of habit probably. Whatever the case, Malek being observed issuing an order coming directly from the Keeper would reinforce the idea that I wasn't dead after all. If I didn't have to kill someone to prove it, all the better.

Two hours later I stood before the giant ring once more, under the cover of darkness. They had relocated the damn thing after driving me away, so I had dug new tunnels towards it a day later. They still had no idea how to effectively deal with me, which surprised me to no end. The chariot had scrying ability, so they could do it, yet the only counter measures against someone using the ring had been a handful of guards – one had sated Urden's thirst, the three others were on their way to the prison cells and a not so bright future in my service. None had seen him coming.

"A strange people, these Jaffa. So fierce on the battlefield, yet so easily led around by their noses… Malek. Input the address!" Now that I had a working prototype, more importantly, now that said prototype had blown up in my face, showing me how incredible dangerous a game I was really playing, it was high time I familiarized myself with this device. The slaves had come by ring, not chariot, to this world. The majority of the army now newly occupying Bahal had come through the ring after the chariot had secured it. Vessels were important and needed to be dealt with, but these portals were the cornerstone of the Goa'uld empire. How could they not be, I certainly felt the absence of my own...

"Yes, Keeper!" Malek stepped forward, while a skeleton took position in front of the ring. I knew in theory what would happen next but wanted to see it with my own eyes. When the ring ignited, flushed, more like it, with an electric moan, the resulting blueish, cloud like discharge engulfed the undead warrior, which had been stripped of anything valuable down in the tunnels. When it receded, only a set of feet and smoking shin bones remained. So much for that. Another Skeleton stepped forward while I marched to the side of the ring. It poked a long staff into the puddle, a staff so long it should have protruded out of the other side, but didn't. "Stick your arms in too", I commanded. Same result. "Now pull 'em out again." They emerged without damage. Next step. "Now step through." The skeleton obeyed and as soon as it vanished into the blue completely, I knew something had gone wrong. The skeleton had disappeared like expected, but whatever not-so-arcane mysteries were contained within the ring had lifted the enchantment binding the flayed soul to the bones. I had felt it, quite clearly, slip through my grasp, away into oblivion. What arrived on the other side would be a pile of ordinary bones.

"Unexpected… You! Go after it!" I motioned for one of the humans, who stepped through with more hesitation than his predecessor. I suspected it had at least something to do with with him having to pass me by rather closely to reach the ring. Yet step through he did. Vanished just as the Skeleton, giving me again the most curious sensation. This one was my minion as well, but his soul was bonded to me not to his bones, and for a few seconds I almost believed that was everything that remained of him. A soul, for that was all I could feel of him for a few moments. "Is this a spirit maker then? Ah, no, there he is..." He had emerged from the ring on the other side, presumably, and I could feel him whole again. The address had come from Urden, who now stood behind me in his new battledress – a mixture of cloth and metal, of trousers, shirt and robe – unmoving like the third skeleton and very unnerving to the humans. Supposedly, it was a dead world, nothing but white sands mixed with salt as far as the eye could see. Another world. The prospect should not have excited me that much, I knew, it was not so different from my minions leaving to spend their wages in the underworld after all, but for some reason I was giddy as a neophyte on the dawn of first battle. I reached out with my mind for the human and found him just where he was supposed to be, at the edge of my consciousness. Concentrating some more, I could catch glimpses of his perception. White sands. A black sky. Urden had come true.

"Good. Now come back!" A few seconds later, another soul left this plane of existence to journey to the next and nothing emerged. The ring really was one way then.

"Malek! Sent the one with the instructions through." While my scribe went over to one of the remaining guards, likely to check if his orders had been understood, I amused myself with the puddle and the last skeleton. It waved another staff through the puddle, it stepped through halfway then back, stuck its head in and pulled it back out. Finally, on one wave, the staff nicked the edge of the puddle. Now that was an idea. "Do that again. Deeper in this time." It walked to the left end side of the puddle, hands trailing through the blue, then waved the ten foot pole around. Had the ring been empty, the wood would have collided with the metal of it, and stuck out at least six foot behind. Now, it just sheered through. As if the edge of the puddle was a hot knife, the skeleton emerged with a now very short staff, the fore end gone, the site of fracture smoking.

"Huh… I wonder where the rest went… You. When you go through, look around for a wooden pole." The human nodded, then hurried into the puddle as soon as the skeleton had cleared the dais. Again the feeling of discontinuity, then we waited for a few moments. According to Urden, the ring should shut down on its own. A few seconds later it did. A few more, and it reignited. More still, and the man stepped through again, a six foot wooden pole in his left hand and a longer one in the other. I gave him my widest grin, which caused him to hesitate mid stride. "Careful now, don't step back into the puddle again…"

During the period of ring-inactivity, the link to him had somewhat changed. It had become… fuzzy, for lack of a better word. I could still feel him, could still get images if I concentrated, but not as clear anymore. Time for the final test, then. "Re-dial the ring." While Malek did so, I summoned an Imp. This entire thing would be all but useless if I wouldn't be able to claim land on the other side, thus spreading my dungeon, and my influence, to a second world. And then a third. And so on. Grinning again, my enthusiasm transferred to the Imp. I had to hold it back so as not to jump into the vortex, but as soon as that subsided, it surged forward – and my spirits sank as I felt my Imp count lower by one. Seven hells...

In a fit of rage I conjured a fireball and fired it through the gate, which refused me the courtesy of an explosion, of course… But it gave me an idea.

"You! Through the ring! Now!" The human hastened to comply, almost jumped through the puddle. I conjured another spell and concentrated on my minions mind on the other side. Then I fired. Images of flames reached me. I fired again. More of the same. This almost looked like the fireball had exploded upon exiting, but at least it had travelled. I scratched my chin, then extended my own hand until it reached the puddle. There was no sensation where I touched it but I immediately noticed the damage it was doing to me. Wherever my 'flesh' touched, it dissolved, pretty much like everything else did, but unlike everything else, it didn't reintegrate when I pulled back. Half of my lower arm was simply gone. The armour and cloth were fine, though. Scratching my chin again, with the other hand of course, I stepped back and folded the already healing arm behind my back. With a noise not unlike that of a breeze, the ring went to sleep again. "Redial!" I needed to think…

Skeletons died, spells and minions travelled, Imps did not. Obviously Chappa'ai and magic didn't mix very well, but what exactly were the rules here? It was all magic, if all very different. Maybe something formless? "You! Fire your staff through the ring." He did so, but I knew it wouldn't help as soon as he did. Those were not magic, as much as they looked the part. And it worked, of course. The one on the other side saw fireballs streaking into the sky. He had put a healthy distance between himself and the ring, I noticed. How about this, then… I cast my standard scrying spell, at first only getting images of the ring itself. Getting the focus right was apparently a little tricky here. Then I targeted the human on the other side – and suddenly I could see the desert in all its glory. "Good. That at least works." Only one thing more to try. Possession. But not that early in the night. I had things to do.

"Pack up! We are going back down!"

"Ah… Keeper, if I may..."

"What?" Malek jumped, looking somewhat flustered, then gestured towards the ring.

"The guard. This one doesn't know how to get back."

* * *

 **Bahal, temporary Jaffa settlement, several days later**

Vatir strode as proudly through the fresh mud as he would have through the streets of Aton itself. For was he not the slayer? Was he not the saviour of Bahal? Lord Amun-Ra, by proxy, of course, had honoured him with his new symbol, which he now proudly wore on his forehead, the Eye of Ra replaced with the ram of Amun, in silver no less. He had risen like a hero of legends, through fire and pain, and who knew how much higher he would go? The "Master" appointed to this place was almost younger than him, had no prior experience in leading men and already relied heavily on his, Vatir's, advice. If he played his cards right, and if Master Aemon agreed with him that the recent losses among the workers really could not be helped, this could only lead to further glory. And why would he not? The ruins were a deathtrap. Full of tunnels and with more holes than a good cheese, there were bound to be more casualties. On the other hand, more tunnels meant easier access to the Naquadah in the ground. They would be unable to rebuild the city itself, too much structural damage, but in a few weeks Bahal alone would make the mines in its satellite settlements seem trivial by comparison. They would meet their quota, Vatir was sure, and then they would improve on it. If it meant a few more dead slaves had to be added to the fires of his ascension, so be it.

He was only paces away from the tent of Aemon, when the ground under it erupted in a discharge of dirt, steam and fire. He flung himself down into the murky embrace of the earth, letting the shock wave wash over him, then rose, his ears still ringing from what he had just witnessed. Around him, the camp broke into hectic activity, Jaffa broke into runs, arms were waved, weapons were opened – and the earth started to shake...

* * *

 **Ennead, spin ward of Bahal, 3 weeks later**

Gheb stood at his desk, his new one, it had to be said. A new world, a new office, a new desk, he smiled. He had renounced the old fool Amun's claim to power, of course. Ra had kicked his sorry ass millennia ago, he had been a steward for the last eternity for crying out loud, no way Gheb was going to serve beneath this one. Besides, he could read the signs. For weeks, Amun had recommended, reprimanded and replaced administrators all over the core worlds. In retrospect, it made more sense, he had been moving his pieces into place to take over. Could have done a better job maybe. Well, whatever. Gheb had served long enough, with Ra out of the picture it was time to try his hand at ruling again.

And yet. He picked up the communication device sitting on the desk, which was receiving a signal from an unexpected source. New office, old acquaintances it seemed. The sphere flickered to live with a thought.

"Lord Gheb."

"And who might you be?"

"I am Kebechet. I have been assigned to reorganize the bureaucracy. The Lord Amun-Ra commands..."

"You're a bit out of the loop, are you not?" Gheb could not help but smile. "From where I am standing, _Amun_ doesn't command shit, no matter how shiny his new throne is. I should have thought me taking the sector fleet and bombarding the yards on Re would have made that clear..." That made her shut her mouth. For a few moments, the young Goa'uld engaged the stone faced look that all of their kind used when utterly flabbergasted. It was a well trained and well met trait. You couldn't very well drop your jaw every time something surprised you, it kind of went against the whole 'claim to godhood' thing. And young she had to be, either that or unimportant before now, for he had never heard of her.

"Tell me, what does the old eel command me to do? Just out of curiosity..."

"If what you said is true, I really should not."

"If what I said is true, you should have ended the call or demanded my surrender by now. And yet, here we are. You are a bit too late to the party, Kebechet. All those to rise in the new order have done so already. Now Amun is just looking to replace the grunts he had to execute along the way. Reorganizing the bureaucracy, eh? What a glorious position.." The beautiful woman gifted him a subtle smile.

"There are ways to make even the most… profane of posts worth one's time. As I am sure you learned yourself, Lord Gheb." This one had spirit. Good.

"Quite, but why settle for grapes when the roast is within your grasp? You have no destiny with Amun. You might have one elsewhere."

"And where could I go from Akhett-Aten that wouldn't be just a pale imitation?" The capital. Of course. Where else would all the threads come together. This might actually be worthy of his time.

"Who says anything about going anywhere? Tell me what you were going to tell me anyway, and maybe you don't need to leave at all. Maybe you are at your most useful right where you are now."

The woman deliberated this for a moment and Gheb put on a winning smile. Idiocy of one's enemies was always nice, but sometimes luck provided even better opportunities.

"A mining world has gone silent. They should have picked up production again by now. I would have reminded you of your duties to the Lord, which you have so clearly neglected."

"Of course you would have. Well done. Delete all records of this communication. I will code this device to yours exclusively. Hold on… Done. I suggest you do the same on your end and restrict the device's use. Now send me the details on this and maybe we will talk some more when you have something else to tell me, yes?" He was rewarded with another smile, then a nod, then the device went silent. He took out a tablet from a drawer, dumped all its contents into the office's data core in a temporary file, then cut all the tablet's connections to anything but the communicator and engaged it in read only mode. There it was. The world of Bahal, first charted thousands of years ago, but only established as a mining colony for about eight hundred years. A fringe world by all accounts, with adequate amounts of Naquadah in numerous surface or near surface deposits. Projected to supply Naquadah for another one thousand years at current rate before more invasive mining techniques would become necessary. Last communication almost a month ago, no ore shipments either since then. Very nice. If it took Amun's flunkies this long to react to a potentially lost world, much less jumble responsibilities and information up enough to send commands to a renegade, finally, to have those commands delivered by a minor official to a former sector commander, then his administration was in worse a state than Gheb had thought. Unfortunately, Bahal, while valuable, was too far away from his current areas of interest to warrant full scale invasion. He could sent a few Jaffa on foot, but above all he had to fortify his new holdings against a possible incursion by Olokun and the inevitable retaliatory strike from Amun. Still, somehow this all seemed awfully familiar. He took up another tablet and searched his old files for the name.

Outside the office, across the living room in the master bedroom, Gheb's Lo'taur Shanna paused in grooming her hair. Whatever had been important enough for her lord to make him just up and leave, however annoyed, had apparently turned out rather to his enjoyment. She hadn't heard him laugh like this in a while. Shanna smiled. She had feared he would carry his anger back with him when he returned, but if this was how it was, maybe the night would lead to a different outcome. She winked at herself in the mirror and continued her task regardless. Better safe than sorry.

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 **It has to be said...**

 _ **Obsidian –**_ _Called "dragonGLASS" for a reason in "Game of Thrones", Obsidian is weird stuff, but truth be told, I am just talking out of my arse here._

 _ **Ennead**_ _– Another group of deities in old Egypt, this one included Geb, but also Osiris, Isis and Set_

 _ **Kebechet**_ _– Egyptian Snake Goddess. Turns out Anubis has a daughter – does not appear in Stargate canon._

* * *

 **Afterword**

 _ **Lord Asmodeus**_ _– You are right, of course. Every time the producers wanted a cheap thrill, they had SG1 don some plot armour and survive insurmountable odds. There were lucky calls, again and again, there was enemies taking up the idiot ball, there even was the occasional bomb-and-timer segment. Personally I would have preferred them to win the day more often through sheer badassery instead of luck, I wonder if the powers that be realized what a disservice they did to the characters with this. Nevertheless, ignoring canon is a dangerous game. On the other hand, taking canon and drawing conclusions from it can be unexpectedly fun, hence all the analysing on my part. Sometimes, one finds unexpected – and probably unintended – brilliance in it. Not to mention that on the day I commit a logical fallacy in my own story, I might just go outside and shoot myself..._

 _ **WarmasterSamiel**_ _– None of them would have survived that long without food, you are correct on that, the Keeper just fed some of them while leaving the majority to starve. I did some rewriting to make it clearer._


	7. Itld - Drinking Habits

**Chapter 6 – The Fire Spreads**

Unlike a human, a Dungeon Keeper always knew what all his hands and all his other limbs were doing. Or where they were doing it. Or how many of them there were. Even what species they belonged to. Since a Dungeon's primary function was to serve as a staging ground for the conquest of an entire world, the heart kept track of such things as numbers and whereabouts of individuals, their current state of mind and body and of course their allegiance, to identify and categorize possible interlopers. In my first days after conquering Bahal, for the first time anyway, I had slowly become accustomed to having such interlopers – as of yet unaligned citizens, in other words – enter my dungeon on a regular basis. Claiming larger populations manually, while enjoyable for every individual, was rather time consuming and I simply didn't saw a need to establish a system for claiming all of them, when "all of them" wasn't actually saying all that much. Bahal had been home to thousands of Jaffa, quite a few of whom had died in the conquest, the rest ended up in my prisons – but only hundreds of humans. So I could just claim a few every day in between whatever tasks were at hand without sacrificing anything, really. A pleasant distraction, so to say. Though I had a feeling the humans in question didn't appreciate the act nearly half as much, seeing how it left most screaming, crying and writhing in pain for a few minutes. Tugging at one's soul tended to be rather uncomfortable.

I had adopted the same approach with the new influx of humans after my second conquest. The Jaffa contingent hadn't been anywhere near as large this time around, which was a good thing, since I didn't have enough skeletons left to simply bludgeon them into submission – I'd had to blow half of them up with subterranean powder charges instead. The amount of humans had been even larger, however, so between the new prisoners and the new minions-to-be, my dungeon was beginning to look rather healthy for the first time since I had arrived on this gods forsaken world. Well, not properly "forsaken", seeing how one had handed me a proper beating not so long ago, but at current they seemed to be busy elsewhere at least. After months of practice, the workshops were beginning to shape up, producing proper furniture, tools and parts for whatever contraption I desired at last. Weapons, not so much. I had a feeling that swords and spears would no longer be all that useful in the coming days and I couldn't replicate staffs as of yet. So why bother…

Naquadah still refused to yield to any and all attempts to smelt it or weld it or solder it, but both forging and sintering worked just fine. Still, any and all unsanctioned experimentation with it was banned under pain of death – slow and very painful death – because in the month since I had retaken the world I had managed to blow myself and my laboratory up with it not once but thrice, leaving bigger holes in the ground every time. That had yielded some interesting ideas for the future, particularly in the field of bombs, but was overall rather annoying at present. My current alchemy lab was situated way outside the confines of my dungeon, surrounded by reinforced bedrock and very close to the surface. Craters were much preferable to subterranean holes in the ground in my opinion. Still, it left me with a rather uneasy feeling whenever I thought about it. It had taken me just about a week of experimenting, mixing Naquadah with different elements, to discover a method of creating explosives several orders of magnitude more potent than anything I had ever employed. I figured, if I could just find a way to mix Naquadah, Iron and Potassium together adequately before the whole container blew itself to kingdom come, I would very well be able to remove mountains without too much trouble. To reproduce a similar effect with magic was possible, but inordinately difficult, and I was beginning to feel somewhat inadequate in this regard. If all my skills, my centuries of learning, my millennia of experience in the mystic arts could be one upped so easily, then I needed to change my ways somewhat radically to prevail here. Blowing up a mountain? Easy. Just mix three types of rock, stir and run. For crying out loud. How could that possibly be a thing?

So, my current projects were centred on three things: First and foremost, to replicate, mass produce an up scale my version of the staff cannon. I wanted, no, I needed bombards to secure the tunnels, bigger versions to shoot down Death Gliders, and giant ones to turn floating pyramids into so much smoking debris. Urden had spent the last month reading up on spell and rune work, at least when he hadn't been gorging himself on what remained of fugitive Jaffa on the surface, and was now working on the bombard, particularly on a way to aim the damn thing. So far, the odds of survival of the Imps commandeered to him for use as "moving targets" were still far too high, but he was making progress.

Second, to make use of the Chappa'ai in an organized and productive manner. So far, I had crushed three attempts of invasion by ring with minimal effort, with a net gain of undead troops along the way. I couldn't leave this planet by ring myself, at least not yet, but if the Goa'uld could make raids through them, so could I. It was just a matter of figuring out where to go without getting snuffed immediately, a matter, in fact, that would be greatly helped by my new prisoners. My torturers where no Dark Mistresses, and so mostly made a mess of things, but I wasn't expecting any converts, only information. Planet symbols, descriptions of places, sizes and positioning of garrisons, that kind of stuff. In general, Jaffa had proven remarkably resistant to interrogation, but since the chambers denied them most methods to kill themselves, they all broke eventually. You had to be bloody inventive to outwit the preserving enchantments, and every time someone did, I remade them. I would get my due. The particular brand of magic wielded by the Mistresses I could introduce once I had managed to introduce magic in the first place…

Which was proving to be a rather more significant problem than I had ever imagined possible. I had tested by now all adults under my dominion for magic affinity, and the results were both weirdly puzzling and highly depressing. Most of them would not be able to learn anything but the most basic of spellwork, e.g. they would still have problems lighting a candle by arcane means if they tried really, really hard. The few that surpassed them in potential would still have been refused as apprentices by any warlock worth his salt, which was beyond weird. In a population of thousands, there should have been latent warlocks. Granted, magic was not something you figured out on your own, as I had so often noticed in populations all over the universe before I had crushed them under my usually very well enchanted boots, but the immortal human soul was a mystic entity in itself. What manner of mystery had cut these people off from their native abilities, had deprived them of the opportunity to build a proper society I had no idea, but I was hell bent on correcting it.

Thus my third important project was my very own Warlock Cabal, which was only a name and a lot of numbers, notes and ideas so far. I had taken the people with the highest affinity and instituted a breeding program for starters. That would take quite some time to produce tangible results, I reckoned two or three generations at the very least unfortunately, so it was a fall back option only. I needed magical troops now, not in the future, so I was also pursuing other venues. Not so long ago I had explained to Malek the principle of Orcish upbringing, which was to say, stick them all into one big group and bring up the ones that survive, and that had born some unexpected fruit. I was currently designing a new room, a children's crèche, which was really an ingenious idea by him. Parents would bring their children there, where an overseer would see to it they didn't kill themselves during the day. They would be fed, maybe even taught something of worth, might as well use the time effectively. In other words, the little abominations would be kept safely secured in one place and it would free up their parents to work on more important things than changing diapers or instructing them on how to breathe or some such, thus increasing my manpower – and it would also provide me with a controlled environment to test their reaction to exposure of various magicks. One variant would include leaking Mana batteries, another would mix tiny charged crystals into their diet, and who knew what else I could come up with. Enchanted toys perhaps. They had the nascent ability, damnit, all thinking beings had, and if I had to rip it out of them to realize it, then so be it. Some casualties were expected, of course, but so far these humans seemed to be as consistent as the ones I knew in at least this part: They didn't breed quite as fast as Goblins, but give them enough food, comfortable beds and some time for themselves every now and again, and you would never run out.

I paused in my thoughts and, startled, turned my attention to Urden, who was registering on my mind as being under attack all of a sudden. There were no interlopers in his vicinity however, and he wasn't out hunting on the surface but in his lab working on the bombard, so the cause was probably something else. I scryed the lab to get a better understanding of what was happening and watched with a mixture of irritation and amusement as my first and so far only Vampire ran around in circles, screaming and trying frantically to put himself out, prompting memories of my own of possessing a burning Vampire, once upon a time. That had really, really hurt, I thought with my grin widening before taking in the room itself. The assembly on the workbench was a ruined, smouldering mess, so something had probably exploded, though I had no idea how he could possibly have managed that with what he should have been doing. A few seconds later Urden lost the battle against his own vampiric combustibility and crumbled to the ground in a shower of ashes. Now that was unfortunate. I barred the lab to Imps immediately. Death was a temporary condition for Vampires mostly, but if the Imp tasked with clean-up made his way in there I would have to sift my only magically potent minion out of the garbage bin, and I had better things to occupy my time with. I would go there later and scoop him up in an urn, then prepare for his resurrection. I had build a ritual chamber somewhere, hadn't I? Yes, there it was, close to the city in the upper layers. I had mostly abandoned those in anticipation of another attack from the skies, the majority of my dungeon was now once more growing around my Dungeon Heart – and said Heart had been relocated a kilometre deeper underground. Still, the Jaffa had been so nice as to clear out most of the tunnels and bigger rooms their bombardment had collapsed, just check the structure for signs of fatigue and the runes for cracks and Urden would be on his feet again in no time. Unless… Seven Hells, I wasn't used to doing everything myself anymore. Did I need virgin blood for this? Those were usually quite scarce in rural populations. Oh, wait, I had the children. No worries there, then…

* * *

 **Chulak, Palace of Moons**

Apophis, Lord of Night, Brother of the Sun, Midnight Serpent, stood staring at he hologram before him and considered, semi seriously, to add another title to his quite impressive collection. "Solver of Riddles", maybe. Or why not "He who is buried under Mountains of Mysteries". No. The former would be better. The latter implied failure, and he could not have that. Not in general, of course, with him being an infallible god, but right about now, while he had actual problems to solve, having his Jaffa doubt him would not be…. Ideal.

As his eyes moved over the golden projection of light, said projection changed shape or focus every now and again, zooming in on certain areas, zooming out, panning left, right, up, down, assigning colours, rearranging symbols. It was a three dimensional picture of the Milky Way, although the Goa'uld only knew it as "the Realm". It might only be one among many galaxies in the universe, but they had never cared all that much. They would deal with that detail once they had all of it under control, preferably his control.

For now that state seemed both closer and more distant than ever before. With his brother's death all but confirmed now – he would not have stood for all that was going on in his territories nowadays, and by now, a great many heads would have rolled – the hyenas had come out to play. Corewards, there was Aker, who had once shared a border with Ra almost as wide as his own and was now launching incursions, taking whatever fringeworlds he could. The cur had always had ambitions. For now, Apophis was willing to indulge him. After all, the two of them also shared a rather large border. In one way, that gave Aker stability. With Ra gone, there was no pressure from that side anymore, so he could expand, wedged in no longer in between the gods of the Sun and the Moon on two sides and Amaterasu on a third. On the other side he knew exactly what would happen if he over extended, and so he had kept his border defences on high alert. Neither Apophis nor the slit eyed bitch would be able to take any territory from him without resorting to all out war. Amaterasu might just try anyway, because in order to get to the green pastures that were Ra's holdings she would have to go through Aker – which would put her on the spot herself, opening her up to attacks from Camulus or Morrigan, or maybe even Heru'ur, and so on and so on. The complete, silent disappearance of a single system Lord, and the entire Realm had been thrown into a state of minor, to medium, to not-quite-yet major wars. Not quite yet, but he could see it coming. Already Warlords were trying to carve up the realm that had once been his brother's, in addition to neighbouring system Lords taking small, but increasing bites out of it. This "Gheb", whoever he was, was only one of those upstarts, if the most successful, and it filled Apophis with righteous anger. If anyone were to inherit the Eye, surely it should be the Serpent! He would allow all these upstarts their time in the light, would allow Aker to bloody them in his attempt to rise and weaken in the process, would allow Amaterasu to wound him some more, would allow Amun, the failing steward, to grind himself to dust against this never ending tide of insurrections. Only then would he strike, bringing swift and unforgiving vengeance down on all of their heads. He didn't need to go for his Brother's carcass. He would feast on Aker's instead, and then move on.

Icon's flickered across his vision, informing him of an approaching Jaffa and of his identity before he could hear the first steps on the black marble floor. The Serpent smiled. Sometimes it was the little things that made or broke the act. Teal'c had long since stopped being surprised when his god addressed him by name without turning around, but he knew it had an effect regardless. So he zoomed out, ordered the core to display the galaxy in its entirety, welcome for the distraction. As the sound of heavy boots approached, then stopped entirely with a single metallic sound of a knee meeting stone, he wondered what his First Prime had for him.

"Speak, Teal'c!" He said, not bothering to turn around.

"My Lord! The troops have been deployed as per your command. The garrisons on Tel and Pelvarren have been bolstered and I have ordered additional training drills to ready the men for war."

"Very well, Teal'c." Now he turned around. Arms crossed behind his back, eyes glowing, focussing on the man before him. Most trusted servant he may be, but it didn't pay to skimp on the showmanship in moments such as these. "Now tell me of their disposition."

"Morale is high my Lord. The bloodless victories at the four fringeworlds last week are still fresh on their minds. With your prediction of their surrender coming true, the faith in you, my Lord, is as steadfast as ever in their hearts."

"Good. I have a place for the new recruits in my armies, once they have all declared their allegiance to me." That place would of course be at the forefront of battle. New converts were best used – and used up – as cannon fodder. Made the own troops grateful it wasn't them and was mostly seen as divine retribution for them siding with the wrong god in the first place. Also freed up their wives to be wed to his own Jaffa, enlarging his breeding potential. And the children would not grow up with stories told by their fathers of the good old times, but of their adoptive parents and their new god, grateful for their new place in life. Now that he thought about it, there really wasn't any downside to this tactic, was there?

"You have done well. Go now, Teal'c, be with your family. There will be war soon enough."

"It will be done, my Lord. For the glory of Apophis."

The aforementioned waved him off, turning back to the hologram that had been swirling slowly behind him the entire time. An impressive backdrop no doubt, seeing how Jaffa lit their houses with candles and torches, if at all. He smirked for a second before calling up the territorial detail map again. Under his gaze, four worlds, far apart and spread out against his border, that had once been of Ra now changed colour, becoming part of his realm. They weren't important. Not in the usual way. They were no use as staging grounds for further invasions, had no installations other than their pathetic slave villages. Oh, sure, "Amun-Ra" officially laid claim to them, but what did he care what the old fool did in his moments of clarity. In a week he probably would have forgotten he ever had troops there.

No, the real worth had been those troops, those Jaffa populations, because they had been a little out of the ordinary. They were larger than the typical garrison, strike forces assembled there to police the surrounding sectors. His brother had favoured this tactic over the large garrison worlds that Apophis preferred near the fringe. A hundred small ones rather than a dozen large ones. Now he was dead, so that was that, and his troops would instead serve as morale boosts for Apophis' own. All four had housed both Jaffa and their families and had been under the command of seasoned Jaffa Masters, an important detail. Give a Jaffa the option to die in the name of his god, however dead that one was reportedly, and he just might choose to go down in a blaze of glory. But with the knowledge that his wife, his children, his nephews maybe, would go down with him he might instead choose to bend the knee, as had been the case with these, their commanders ordering them to stand down when Apophis gave them the choice. Predicting anything publicly always carried a risk, but really, this one a child could have seen coming.

Again he was interrupted by a chime and a flashing symbol, this one belonging to his chief of staff. Was there not a moment's peace to be found today? A tangent thought ordered the door to the room closed, then he answered the call.

"What is it, Taweret?"

"My deepest apologies, my lord, to disturb you in your hour of contemplation. But we have an incoming call of our new Supreme Lord Presumptuous." Taweret cracked a wide smile. He had chosen a funny little man as his latest host, Apophis had no idea why, especially since he had always preferred beautiful females in the past. Still, he had to concede this smirk of his went very well with his sometimes rather dark humour. "Should I tell him you are indisposed or rather ignore the call all together?"

"No, you fool, you will relay it to me! I hope for your sake that you have been courteous with the usurper, too. It is not yet time for open hostilities and if he demands your head on a spike for this, rest assured, I might consider it!" Taweret still maintained his smirk, probably secure in the knowledge that his Lord really, really needed him. He bowed so deeply he almost vanished from the picture, then the display switched to that of a stylized ram head, which had one of its eyes superimposed by his brother's symbol. He was really going all out with this Amun-Ra thing, Apophis just had the time to think before the hologram switched again, this time to a female he didn't remember seeing before. Beautiful golden hair, emerald green eyes accentuated by just a tint of rouge, a sight befitting her rank, for she was truly a goddess among women. Thankfully, as was customary in these circumstances, the symbols of the Goa'uld calling were displayed at the bottom of the projection. Apophis quickly transformed his prepared smirk into a greeting smile, when the caller's ID did not after all match his expectation.

"Lord Apophis. I bring greetings from my Lord Amun-Ra. It is in his name that I call upon you now."

"And a sight for sore eyes you are. Though I am not familiar with your host, may I compliment you on your choice regardless, Lady Amaunet?"

"She is… acceptable. But your adulations are noted, Lord Apophis." He gave a slight bow, all adversity cleansed from his mind for the time being, washed away by the genuinely regal sight of the queen before him.

"Then how may I serve your Lord?"

"Truly? You could start with returning a certain number of border worlds, if memory serves. Though I suppose we should be grateful it was only those four, should we not? Others are not quite so… modest… in their misplaced ambitions."

"Sure enough they will fear the wrath of our Lord in time..." He could feel a smirk creeping up on the corners of his mouth. Going through this with a straight face was a trial worthy of a god.

"I am surprised your sarcasm hasn't melted your transceiver yet, Lord Apophis. Certainly there is enough acid for it in your actions, if not your words."

"And is that surprising? I have acknowledged my Brother's superiority, if grudgingly, for the last ten millennia. Your husband has not quite the same track record, I am afraid."

"My husband ruled the Ogdoad long before you or your brother were even born!"

"Also long before you became his queen, if memory serves… regardless, both events are so far in the past, why, I doubt the fabled Tau'ri would remember either of them."

"It matters little what a few savages on a backwater myth-world think. And regardless of what you think, Lord Apophis, my husband still commands the largest force of Ha'tak the galaxy has ever seen." Not quite true, but close enough, Apophis had to admit. It said more about Ra than it said about Amun, however. His brother had ruled over the System Lords with an iron fist – because it couldn't be done any other way – mostly because of his vast fleets. Amun had managed to lose quite a bit of those by now, mostly through desertion, but what remained was still beyond formidable, enough raw fire power to pound any single System lord into dust with one half and still defend his shrinking territory with the other against whoever came calling. He didn't have the infrastructure to support them all, not anymore, with systems seceding left and right, but Ha'taks were hardy vessels. If the ones he had were all fully fuelled and stocked, it would take quite a while before the drain became unbearable. And unfortunately, there was no reason to assume otherwise. As things stood, he and all of Amun's other neighbours were lucky that Amun had his hands full and his legions occupied stitching together his empire that was coming apart at the seams despite his best efforts.

"Is this why you are calling, then? To warn me of your master's intent on making war on me? Why, I am most grateful, my Lady. I had no idea you thought so highly of me…" That actually brought a smile to her face. Well, the shadow of one.

"That remains to be seen. For now, my Lord Husband merely wishes me to impress on you that your absence in the coming summit would be… noted."

"Amun-Ra is calling a summit of the System Lords?" Apophis had to fight down that smirk again, this time with more urgency. Officially you had to be appointed Supreme System Lord – by the council – to call a council. But if Amun showed up with the head of a former System Lord on a spike – say, Apophis' – that might just give him the inertia he needed to regain control over this mess. So he grit his teeth, bowed from the hip and acknowledged the data transfer when Amaunet started it. Time, date, place, nothing unusual here. Amun wanted a meeting, let him have a meeting. And let someone else take the fall.

* * *

 **Bahal Dungeon, living quarters**

Teela loved her daughters dearly, she really did. In fact she had never been this happy before. Despite her work in the cantina, despite her helping her husband with some preliminary work whenever he brought some home with him, despite the housekeeping and everything else – she had never spend this much time with her babies and she was just ecstatic about it. She could go on walks with them, could watch them play with their friends – they had friends now, friends that didn't look like they would keel over from starvation any minute – and not have to worry that a Jaffa would stomp by in all his pomp and backhand them just because they were in his way.

Teela loved having her girls along, Halima on the left hand, Sekani on the right, bouncing on her arms with every step. It was so, so very peaceful. And so very, very exhausting!

When they reached their home, the girls shot off like wild bunnies, Sekani grabbed the wooden doll with the glowing eyes she had grown so fond of and Halima latched on to her stuffed animal, a fluffy creature of surely unholy origin, settled down in a corner of the main room and just giggled, leaving Teela to collapse into the big armchair they had spent the last few months of wages on. And boy, had that been worth it…Never would she have thought that having two kids could be harder than scavenging for everyday survival under the Jaffa.

"Sekani, take your sister and play in your room, will you, sweetie? Mommy needs some rest.." "Moooom..." The girl pouted, but eventually relented. Teela tried to restrict the heavy hand to a bare minimum, but a hard life had taught the girls to obey her mother anyway. Teela sighed when silence descended on the room and after a few seconds, she felt as if wrapped in happiness. Sure, the work was hard, work hours were long, but the pay was good and for the first time in what seemed like forever, she had spend months – months – without someone she knew or had talked to dying, be it a friend buried in the mines, or a distant relative crippled in the refineries or some associates child succumbing to illness or starvation. She missed the sun somewhat, but other than that, despite Malek's constant nagging, this was as close to heaven as she could imagine. She sniffed her robe tentatively and grinned again. When was the last time she had worried about having to shower again? Oh yes, never. Teela giggled and wiggled deeper into the comfy chair when the picture Malek had nailed to the wall above his desk caught her eye again. A series of pictures, really, depicted next to one another on one large rectangular piece of not-parchment-but-some-other-stuff. Thinner, white and it almost didn't smell, but she couldn't remember what he had called it. The biggest showed an oval depression in the ground, with concentric rings surrounding it on ever higher levels. The others, way smaller, the lot of them, showed cross sections of what Malek had explained where different parts of the thing, but she couldn't see them anywhere on the big picture. Teela only noticed that she was standing in front of it when she heard the door opening and closing, and felt a pair of arms hugging her from behind, leaning heavily on her. She pinched her husband in the back of his hand to snap him out of it. She really couldn't deal with a depressed scribe right now. No really, she physically couldn't, they would collapse on the desk on top of each other…

"I've never seen those hieroglyphics before. What do they say?" She asked him instead to take his mind off of things. He rubbed his hand and kissed her on the cheek before answering.

"They are not hieroglyphics. They are called letters. The Keeper taught them to us." She felt him stiffen like he did every time when his boss was mentioned in his presence. "Every symbol on its own is meaningless, but read them in a group and they spell a word. And you read them just by calling them by their names too. Here." Malek pointed to the first. "This is an 'A', this is 'R', 'E' ,'N' and 'A' again. It is really handy. Words are longer and look much less beautiful but you don't need to keep a thousand symbols in mind to be able to write, there are just thirty of these. The Keeper wants us scribes to translate the symbols into letters before the first school opens." "Is that what you are working on now? Then what is this?" she gestured to the picture. "And what does he need it for anyway?"

"I really do not want to know…"

"Husband, you say that every. Time. This looks like a stage. Biggest I've ever seen, okay, but what unspeakable evil could possibly come from this, hm?" She could all but feel him twitch beside her and sighed again. Teela decided to switch topics. "Why do you have a painting of it anyway if you hate it so much?"

"Because you can't really see on this how huge it will be when it's done. He had Memphis, Hebenu and Itawi drawing sketches like this one the entire week before he absconded with more paper than I could carry." Paper, that was it. Something about mushed plants…

"He is going to build this thing underground, he has already started digging. Haven't you seen the green clouds?"

"Of course I have, but when are there no green clouds?" She turned around and hugged her husband back. He was getting spirited again, good. "You know, for all the stories you tell me about him, I think he just really likes to dig..." Teela watched in awe as a smile fought against darker memories all across the battlefield that was her husbands face and won, if barely. "And you know, his little Imps? I realize they hacked the Jaffa to pieces, but they really seem so harmless… One of them was outside the other day. He carved that relief into the walls, next to the door."

"I had wondered when they would make their way here. There are so many of them, I am surprised it took so long. But please, tell the girls to stay away from them. I saw Memphis' boy riding one yesterday and last week a bunch of kids I haven't seen before pushed one over when it was on its way to the vaults, just to see the pellets roll all over the ground. Imps don't seem like much, but they hold a grudge. And unlike us, the kids are not protected from them."

"What do you mean?" He touched her temples slightly and she winced. Sometimes she thought the mark the Keeper had impressed there had never really healed.

"The symbol marks us as off limits. The Imps will not harm us, because we are valuable to him, they will even protect us, die for us if need be. It's the one regret I have about convincing him to let the children stay without taking them into his service." Teela was worried about that for a moment but then remembered something.

"Well, they haven't killed anyone yet, so maybe you shouldn't worry so much. And I saw those kids, I think. Rather I saw them running away from a cackling Imp, reeking of rotten eggs. If that's all they'll do, then I think we'll be fine." Malek shuddered regardless, no doubt imagining a prank war emerging between the now well fed and mostly bored children of Bahal and the veritable army of occasionally equally bored Imps that populated the dungeon. What _would_ they do when they ran out of walls to carve stuff into?

"Say, the market has grown bigger and bigger this last month. I know we bought the chair from the workshop, but the more I think about it, the more I believe we could have used our money better if we had just waited a bit. They are already selling almost everything there..."

"Don't I know it. Everyone who wants to open a stall comes to me first and asks whether or not it's okay, or if the Keeper will come and eat them if they do..."

Teela giggled. "And? Has he? So far I mean.."

"Only if you actually ask him, I imagine. He hates the topic with a passion – money, I mean. I have no clue why, it was his idea after all, so why it would frustrate him like it does I don't know. But you really don't want to bring it up in his presence…" Then the smile vanished from his features again and his hug became tighter.

"The first raid battalion left the planet today. They went through the ring just before I turned in for the night." For a moment they just stood in front of the silly picture on the wall, safe in each others arms. It was something that Malek had first mentioned four weeks ago, that the Keeper would sent out warriors to attack other worlds. Worlds that were very much like Bahal had been. Where there lived people very much like the two of them.

"What are they going to… I mean..."

"Not much for today. Just go there, take a look around, maybe ambush some Jaffa. Their orders are to make camp and attack in the early morning."

"Shouldn't they look around first? I mean, how does he even know where to go? What if they run smack into a garrison and get all killed?"

"You don't want to know, love." Teela pinched him again for that. "Ow! Okay, so you do… I apologize. But you won't like it, I can promise you that at least. Do you remember Desouk?"

"Isn't that the guy with the funny nose? The Uncle of Memphis…. Sister, was it?"

"Hook-nose, yes. Though just be thankful I only got my nose broken once. Your face tends to suffer a bit when it happens to you 15 times..."

"What about him?"

"You wouldn't recognize him anymore. He… _works_ … in the torture chambers now." and, after a few moments of silence: "Told you you wouldn't want to know. The Keeper turns most of his Jaffa prisoners, but the highest ranks get dropped of with Desouk and… others… I have been collecting the reports after he retook the surface. I have never seen a man this twitchy… Every time he looked at me, I don't know if he wanted to run and hide or grab one of those things he calls tools to shank me with when I turned around."

"So that's how..."

"How he knows where to go, yes. And they don't need to scout all that much, the Keeper does it from here. He stood in front of the ring for a good ten minutes and kept it open with his stares. I swear, Teela, he can see through the Chappa'ai… and he can talk to them, too, like he sometimes talks to me." Oh yes, she remembered that. Teela shuddered and hugged her husband again, in need of comfort herself now. She had stood next to him when a message had come drumming through his skull that had echoed in her own. Malek had only stumbled, used to it already, but Teela had all but gone to her knees in tears. It was one of those moments when she could understand why the rings around her husband's eyes kept getting darker. When she got a glance just how heavy the burden was he was carrying for her and the girls.

"Every single one of them has family, Teela. Every one. A wife, at least two kids. Most have younger brothers or sisters, too."

"What? Oh come on, how would you even know this?"

"I cannot not know this. I work in the library all day. It helps you see patterns, but it also forces them on you. So when I thought about them, it was all just… there. Obvious, impossible to ignore."

"So what if they do? Do you think it is so they fight harder? Because they have something to come back to?"

"To come back _for_ , more likely..." She looked at him imploringly. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like this after all. But a wife had a duty, even if the husband was the one to do the heavy lifting.

"Teela, if I really wanted to get away – yes, I know, woman, why would I, humour me – just if. I told you about Desouk. I could not bear leaving you and the girls behind. Not with what I know. Not after what the war dogs did to those chickens – and the chicks." Teela was confused by the sudden change in topic.

"Dogs..?"

"He has collected all the dogs he could find, that's why there are none around anymore, had nothing to do with the menu change in the cantina. He is paying bounties for anyone who can bring him some, I think some of the hunters are exclusively looking for more in the woods. But the ones I have seen are not dogs anymore. He… changed them somehow. For use in combat he says. To help the troops. Eventually. But for now, they are just absolutely repulsive. One had two heads…" He trailed off for a few moments then shook his head and refocussed.

"Still, he said he wanted them to know. That they wouldn't be fighting alone for much longer. So he showed them, showed the entire battalion how they fed. I have no doubt they will all come back, Teela, every single one of them, and if they have to crawl through the ring." Malek stood up, kissed her on the cheek and made for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To the tavern. I need some courage for this conversation."

"What conversation?"

"I need to talk to the girls. I do not want them to pet a dog ever again..."

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 ** _It has to be said..._**

 **Taweret** _– Both considered a demon in service to Apep (read: Apophis) and a patron of maternity and childbirth, however that works. Does not appear in Stargate canon._

 _ **Chulak –**_ _To my knowledge it is nowhere explicitly stated that Chulak is Apophis' throne world, in fact in "Children of the Gods" Teal'c says that the Goa'uld "return home" after a ceremony of choosing. So maybe Chulak is just another Jaffa garrison?_

 **Sintering** _– industrial process which – basically – turns powder into a solid, if somewhat fragile bigger object without the necessity to smelt it. Producing any form of ceramics involves sintering as an intermediate step._

 **Goa'uld Domain** _– I have a certain idea of how the Goa'uld Empire could work, which will be explained in detail, either in this story or in another Stargate-fic. Suffice to say for now, the idea goes that in every System Lord's empire there are a few core worlds or throne worlds (See Star Wars' Coruscant, or in-Universe, see Delmak, Sokar's home world, which is THE ONLY throne world ever shown in Stargate), supplying the majority of the tech, then there are a handful intermediates, supplying the Jaffa and serving as a sink for the growing Goa'uld population, which are less developed than the former but more than the third type:_

 _ **The Fringeworlds –**_ _very small mining settlements which sometimes only develop the area around the gate. A small population that basically picks up the near surface deposits of Naquadah or Iron or whatever else there is of worth, and when those are exhausted, both Stargate and population get moved by a few hundred kilometres. Those would surround every empire in a huge cloud and make up the majority of worlds visited by the SG teams. Believe it or not, those would actually be able to supply an industrial star spanning empire with the resources it needs. As long as you have enough of them,_ _say a few hundred,_ _even medieval colonies can have an amazing mineral output. Also serves as fridge brilliance: Why haven't we seen any more Goa'uld home worlds? The SGC knows about a few (See Ep4x15 for example), surely enough. But the Air Force also knows it would be suicide to go there. So they don't..._

 _ **Goa'uld Senility**_ _– It is mentioned how Lord Yu is the oldest living Goa'uld left and is getting senile. This does not mean, however that an older Goa'uld has to be senile by default. Humans, as we all know, react very different to old age_ _if you compare individuals_ _._

 _ **The Role of the First Prime**_ _– Maybe one of the more puzzling facets of Stargate is the idea of one so paranoid as the Goa'uld giving any semblance of real power to a Jaffa. The role is never truly defined to any satisfaction. Is he a supreme military commander? A glorified bodyguard? Does he only command the ground forces? More often than not, Ha'taks are commanded by Goa'uld. Surely First Primes can't actually give orders to those? So I am going to assume that Teal'c's role in Apophis's service is somewhat of a second in command/wardog. Apophis lays down the strategy, Teal'c is responsible for the actual beat down. Apophis says: "I want that planet, here, take these space ships", Teal'c has to figure out how to make it happen with what he gets._

 _ **Goa'uld lifespan**_ _– In my opinion the show slugged itself solidly in the foot with this one. First the Tok'ra acknowledge in "Seth" that Setesh could still be alive on modern day earth without a Sarcophagus, then "Moebius" states the date of Ra's departure as 3000 B.C., finally the whole Egeria business in "Cure". The "ten thousand years" I proclaim as Ra's reign is a number I essentially pulled out of my ass._

* * *

 **Afterword**

 _ **Yinko**_ _– The Keeper will not remain confined to a single world, rest assured, but just how he will achieve this, well, you will have to wait and see._

 _ **Tri2**_ _– The way I see it, you are asking the wrong question entirely. The question for me as an author was not: "Can he?", but rather: "What if he_ _does_ _? And what happens when the ship takes off?"_

 _ **TyrothDarkstorm**_ _– I have to admit, reading your per chapter review was strangely cathartic. Glad you are enjoying the story_

 _ **In regards**_ _to Goa'uld sanity: I will display the Pharaohs as suitably megalomaniac. But I refuse to believe that someone who has managed to stay on top of the food chain for literally thousands of years – heck, even the minor players have managed to survive that long – can be criminally insane. Social Darwinism alone dictates that the guys that have survived are those with the least amount of crippling mental instability, while the total nut cases get offed (See Marduk for an in universe example). So yeah, my depiction of the Goa'uld might be unusual, but rest assured, they will not be sane, and there will be cackling._

 _ **The Keeper**_ _on the other hand is rather opportunistic. In the games, Magic and tech were used sided by side, I intend to keep it that way. Whatever works, works, be it magic, technology or Magitek. Also, in regards to the time line, I dropped one reference back in chapter 4. It has been a while since then. It won't be much longer before this develops into a fray and the Tau'ri feel the need to join in._


	8. Chapter 6 - The Fire Spreads

_**Foreword**_

 _I wrote this together with the last chapter, but dropped it in favour of the thing with Lord Gheb's first personal appearance. Doesn't really fit anywhere else, though, so I will publish it on its own. Some coarse language ahead, for those who care. So, have an interlude. New chapter going up on Sunday._

 **Interlude**

 **A** **ttack group "** ** **Twilight of Malk'Shur**** **", s** **omewhere in the Perseus Arm**

"Sometimes I loathe our physiology beyond all possible belief…"

"Really? I recall you being quite fond of being a Goa'uld every morning after an evening such as this."

"Oh, fuck oth, Neff!"

The aforementioned didn't pay much heed to his mangled name. Instead, he raised his goblet, nodded and drank. They had known each other for how many thousand years by now? And they had gotten drunk together for almost as long, so he had heard worse. How many people would one be able to drown in the sea of booze they had obliterated like this, he wondered…

"Just once, Neth! Just once I would like to lay back and enjoy a drunken stupor without you making a snarky remark! But Sokar's balls, I can't do either. Because you won't shut up and because my metabolism purges the stuff faster than you can think up those comments of yours! Damn poison resistance…"

How long _had_ they known each other? He remembered himself standing next to Abtu when Ra himself awarded them for their first battle won against the forces of Apophis, back when Unas had been the latest thing. Remembered taking his first human host and regretting it almost immediately, much preferring the Unas for their natural power. Remembered fighting on the sands and ashes and grasslands and mountains of a million worlds. Oh and the drinking. He remembered the drinking. They drank to victory, they drank to defeat. They drank to pain and to death – on the rare occasion when his host took a wound in battle so severe that he needed a new one. Abtu always stayed on the ship, so that had never happened to him… The bastard was still on his.. what? Second host since Tau'ri? Seriously? And…. Why were they drinking again? Today specifically?

His brain did its best to cycle through recent memories, sift through alcohol induced white noise and jumbled associations, both very much possible despite Abtu's claims. A fringeworld appeared before his inner eye. Neth reached for the bronze pitcher again. There were no servants in this room, their inner sanctum. Their oasis of peace. However, before his goblet was half full, he remembered, unfortunately, and both it and the pitcher fell to the ground.

More images flashed by. More fragments. Memories of screaming skulls, of rattling bones in the darkness. Memories of Jaffa torn apart by what seemed like the dead themselves, and screw Abtu who explained it away with "unusual constructs". Unusual constructs didn't try to chew your ankle off when you shot off their legs! Constructs didn't keep going, didn't keep screaming, didn't keep staring at you when all that was left of them was their skull!

Oh, yes, Neth remembered again. Remembered the head he had picked up by the spine. Twitching like a serpent, still trying to get at him while all around him his troops fought and died in the tunnels. Remembered the searing fire in the empty sockets. Remembered – and reached for another pitcher.

Clearly he wasn't drunk enough yet, which, counter to his companions claims, was very well possible.

"And what are you so desperate about, eh? You aren't the one who just missed the promotion of the century! Stupid fake demons and their underground tunnels! The risen dead my ass! Probably some idiot ploy of Ba'al and his fat pet of a tinkerer!" He drank, he burped, he needed a refill and eyed Neth with lips tightly pressed together – who promptly hugged his pitcher to his chest and stared daggers back at him.

"Fine! Traitor!" Picking up an empty container from the ground he instead got up and made his way around the cushions and lounging chairs that dotted the room, until he reached the bar. A few presses of a button later it filled with something that looked rather stronger from where Neth was sitting.

"Stupid machine! No! Wine, I said! I swear on Ra's dead baby face, why did we ever ban Kara'Kesh from here? This tactile interfaish is rubbish!"

"Because I remember what the room looked like the last time we got it into our heads having a pillow fight with ribbon devices was a good idea… I also remember the broken bones..."

"Baaah!" And there he downed a good part of the carafe straight from the source, then held it back down under the faucet to refill with furious button pressing.

"What is the galaxy coming to when upstanding Goa'uld are burying down like worms!"

"Oh, now I know you've had enough… did you just call Ba'al "upstanding"? Also, quit it already! It wasn't them, I am completely and utterly sure of it! And I am tired of hearing you nag about it!"

"But it would have been perfect!" Swinging both his arms to the side in a wide gesture, Abtu smashed his pitcher against the plant embedded in the wall, lost hold of it and decided after a full five seconds of hard thinking to not pick it up again and fill his goblet directly from the source instead.

"Just think about it! The largest Tok'ra base ever discovered! Right under Gheb's nose, he never would have lived it down! And we would have been heroes! Better, we would have been rich! Can you imagine what Ra would have given us for this? Sector command? Done! A Naquadah Statue on every core world? No problem! A night with his queen? Sure, why not two? You wanna go individually or together? BUT NO!"

Neth ducked as Abtu fired his goblet against the nearest wall, centuries of battlefield reflexes emerging through alcoholic haze for a moment.

"No, it was just some little shit who thought he could fuck with us! No Tok'ra, no sector command, and I have to contend with you for the night's entertainment instead!" Okay, at this, Neth's eyes twitched. Somehow he felt he should object to this comparison… But before he could, the fire had burned itself out. Abtu collapsed into a thoroughly padded armchair, grumbling now instead of shouting.

"And even if we had found their main base, and brought him Garshaw herself tied into a knot, what the heck do you think we would have gotten for it from Amun-thrice-he-be-fucked-Ra? The "Skinflint of Pharaohs" I remember Gheb calling him once… Fucking traitor got it right, getting out when he did…"

Well, their new overlord was more administrator then leader, that much was becoming apparent. But…

"You think he did it?"

"Huh? Did what?

"Amun. You think he killed Ra?"

"Pah! If he did, he is even more of an idiot than I thought. Just look at this mess. Gheb's off with what? A fifth of the fleet? Minors are expanding on the fringes, Apophis and Aker are no doubt having a party right now and half the bureaucracy is sitting around, fingers up their cunts! No preparation whatsoever, this is the worst coup in the history of bad coups! If he really did kill him, he couldn't have done a worse job! Netu, if Osiris was still with us, he would have had the old fart assassinated before his arse touched the throne."

"And then thank him for keeping it warm for him. Yes, I could see that happening. When I last talked to Ma'at, he almost send me to the wrong system."

"That too! Stupid desk-riding morons! We go to Nile, ready to smite some heathen ass, but no, rebellion ended weeks ago! We go to Abusir to refuel, fucking ground-hoggers have eaten all the food!" He could forgive his companion for this slight against his chosen profession, he was beyond caring by now. Gods, he hadn't been this shit faced since… why was he drinking again?

"Betcha, old man Ma'at will have the Jaffa running themselves sore before this is all over. Haven't seen this much troop movement in… a, who cares… damn goathead and his retarded plans."

Abtu had just managed to rant himself into a passable rage again when suddenly a horn sounded in the room. They had installed the warning klaxon even earlier than the manual booze controls. Only now Neth wished he hadn't insisted in such a loud one. Private quarters these were, but as commanders of an entire battle group they couldn't just vanish of the face of the universe without giving their Jaffa a method of reaching them.

"Sokar's BALLS! WHAT! NOW!?"

A set of rings emerged from an alcove and deposited a Jaffa on his knees, who was very aware by his looks that his commanders would likely not appreciate being disturbed.

"My Lords! An open communiqué from Aton has just arrived. The Lord Amun-Ra commands.."

"THE LORD AMUN-RA CAN GO FUCK HIMSELF! ! !"

Must have been one of Abtu's guys. He only just dodged the barely subsonic goblet. At least it was empty by the time it almost hit him… Still, this couldn't stand. He was about to get up when the startled – and utterly stunned – Jaffa suddenly convulsed amidst a shower of blue lightning, causing him to drop to the floor instead. Before he could applaud his partner's marksmanship, however, another three shots went wild, causing him to dive for safety in between the pillows before a fifth finally connected, ending the life of the unfortunate servant whose only crime had been hearing a tad too much. Neth waited a few additional seconds before daring to raise his head, just in time to see Abtu stow the Zat'niki'tel away again, albeit in the potted plant, not the actual ornamented niche next to it. As Neth sunk down into what turned out to be a chair without a backrest, he saw Abtu make his way over to the rings, probably to kick the Jaffa some more. Half a minute later however the rings activated again and the corpse disappeared. Oh, yeah, had to dump the body into space, he had forgotten about that.

It was somewhat of a hidden legend on the "Twilight", that every now and again messengers just up and disappeared, never to be seen again. So far no one had drawn the parallels, though truth be told, it didn't happen all _that_ often. His feet on the seat, his back on the floor, Neth thought about the ups and downs of being a living god. You had to watch your every word, especially around the Jaffa, had to be careful how you phrased, how much you said, what you asked, even how you asked. Entire battles had been lost because the Goa'uld in question hadn't dared ask his Jaffa commander what the fuck was up, out of fear of damaging his image in his soldiers' eyes. On the other side, you could get away with an awful lot. You could rant and rave, you could cackle like a madman, you could gloat – or curse like a goat when the situation turned around – Netu, even the occasional impromptu execution was all right. They had led this joint command for centuries, by now their soldiers all but expected it every now and again. He remembered Abtu snatching a woman that struck his fancy from a group of passengers for a pleasant afternoon that had turned into a week, not so long ago. As long as the woman wasn't Jaffa, even that was fair game and no one really cared. But soldiers talked. Always talked. And having a man run around the ship that had born witness to such blatant a breach of protocol… wasn't the most prudent of things. Amun-Ra was paranoid enough as things were, and ruthless with any and all slights.

Bah. Whatever. Deed was done, problem solved, crisis averted. Whatever this was could wait till the morrow.

 _And with that, Lord Neth, Goa'uld ground commander extraordinaire, drifted off to uneasy sleep and nightmares filled with drunken revenants and screaming potted plants. Neither he nor his long time companion would remember the incident for weeks to come, the most important occasion of the next day being to recover from their hangover, a process thankfully greatly accelerated by their native abilities. And so a marching order would remain in their computer core, received, acknowledged and ignored. It was only one of several, different but similar incidents happening all over the vast territory once claimed by Ra, with legions and infrastructure both struggling to contain the myriad of uprisings, discourage outward forces and reestablish a semblance of order. By the time it was acknowledged, who could tell which of the few lost in the chaos was the one to order the retaking of a lone fringeworld that had once again gone silent…_


	9. Chapter 7 - Chain Reaction

**Chapter 7 – Chain Reaction**

 **Hasara Station**

The High Council of the System Lords was a revered, if somewhat nebulous institution and the second closest thing to a united government the Goa'uld as a species had ever managed to establish. The first ancient coalition of Goa'uld, the now legendary Ogdoad, who had later been labelled the "First Dynasty" by Ra, had done better, but they were no longer around. Once risen from the primeval waters of their Homeworld, after taking the First Ones as hosts, these chosen eight appointed themselves "Rulers of all Creation" and for Millennia the entire species had lived, fought and died at their command. After their eventual downfall had risen the "Second Dynasty", again so titled after the fact by Ra, who at the time had been young, ambitious, and together with his brother had been the cause of said fall. Only one of the "Eightfold" remained among the living, and only a handful remained of the Second Dynasty itself, a result not so much of Ra's actions, but his machinations. Having learned from his own victory, the supreme System Lord would not be overthrown by his subjects, written out of history, his name ridiculed by his conquerors as he had done to Amun's people. There was no ruling of equals in his domain, no sharing of power, there was only them, and there was him. And while he made very sure they all knew what it meant to feel his boot on their throats, Ra also ensured that they knew how infinitely preferable it was to be in his good graces. Yes, they hated him. Yes, they would kill him if given half a chance. Some had tried. Some had banded together in numbers sufficient – only to be betrayed by one of their own who had been rewarded beyond his wildest dreams while they themselves had been ground to dust very, very slowly, and the spoils divided amongst the loyal. Thus, in a climate of paranoia he had ruled, a single constant in the ever changing body that was the Council, the youngest generation accepting his existence as reality, for they had never known any other. And even Goa'uld inherited memories faded. Their DNA, in constant flux, was highly pliable and after a while, remembering the fallen seemed unnecessary…

None of these memories from ages past went through Apophis' head as he stood on one of the station's observation decks, looking out into the sea of stars. He had been here when Ra had called the first meeting of the Lords, even though he had not been a Lord himself, merely a servant to his brother. True, he was still alive while others were not, yet the reason he was smirking at his faintly visible mirror image in the treated transpari-steel was something else all together. As far as Apophis was concerned, the second Dynasty was now officially at an end, for the gods of the galaxy had met again – and the heavens outside were finally empty.

Hasara had always been under Ra's direct control. He had build the station in his domain in the very centre of the combined Goa'uld empire. He had maintained it, but more importantly, he had been the one to guard it. The only one. Whenever a meeting was called, his fleets patrolled the sector, his soldiers manned the station, his ships escorted the attendees, all of whom were only ever allowed to approach in whatever unarmed ship be their choice. Approach in the sights of weapons not their own. Watched constantly, it was felt, by Jaffa and humans with the eyes of falcons.

His boot on their throats, constantly squeezing ever so slightly. But no more.

Amun-was-no-Ra had simply assumed to continue business as usual. Call a meeting, announce his ascendancy. The surprise had been harsh, the resistance small but pointed. Not exactly a coalition, more of a position shared by most of them – spearheaded by the old jade goat himself, of course – they had appeared in force over the world closest to Hasara, suggesting that in these unsure times, a little bit of extra protection would do everyone good. Not that any of them wanted ships near the station, least of all Ha'taks, warships equipped for planetary bombardment and conquest, full of Jaffa, all armed to the teeth. That would have just called for a disaster. They simply suggested that a joined force would deter any intruder and with such a number of ships they could surely guard the station from further away. After a lot of shouting and enough gnashing of teeth to warrant sarcophagus time the suggestion had changed again and now all that remained was one ship per attendee, stationed 300 lightyears away, all at the same planet, each patiently waiting for its Pharao to return, while the rest of the fleets had been sent home.

They had still arrived in smaller, unarmed ships, Amun included, even though he had chosen a Cheops – because of course he would feel the need to overcompensate – and both the station and said Cheops were still crewed by Ram-guards, so if Amun-Ram in his senility chose to murder them all they would still be fucked. But it was a beginning. And no way would the old fool start anything while he himself was still here and everyone else had brought a troupe of his finest Jaffa under the guise of bodyguards. Apophis waved absent mindedly and a slave scurried over with a fruit plate, offering it high with her head held low. He barely noticed her when picking the most delicious looking thing from the plate and while eyeing the morsel had already forgotten the colour of her hair. How long had it been since he tasted one of these? So long apparently that he couldn't, for the life of him, remember what they were called. Taking a bite and revelling in the juicy taste, he turned back to the window, his thoughts now venturing forth into new directions. Where would this be from? Amaterasu had been 'given the honour' of catering this time around, and while outside of these gatherings that meant he would not have a Jaffa touch this delightful little thing with a ten foot pole while he himself watched from orbit, this was Hasara after all. Poisoning a Goa'uld was possible, although their metabolism being what it was that meant whatever could do so had to be rather exotic. Most run of the mill toxins were simply not man enough to accomplish the deed and whatever was able to kill him or any other of his kind would also be rather easy to detect. Add to that how generations of Goa'uld, every single one who had ever spent enough time on the station to warrant a meal, he suspected, had secretly outfitted the cargo holds with all manners of sensors, overloading the areas to the point they probably interfered with one another, and he was actually less concerned of something untoward being put into his food here than he would have been in his own palace. There was always the chance of someone finding something new and unheard of. Somewhere. It was a big Galaxy. But outsmarting all of these sensors, even though some of them were positively ancient by now, was surely impossible.

No, he was far more interested right now into how to get more of this. He possibly had them growing somewhere in his empire, but since Amaterasu had so graciously provided these, why not get them right from the source? There had to be some worlds near the border which he could… pay a visit to. Get some bushes and start cultivating his own. Hefting the large stone in his hand before throwing it to the side and prompting another slave to approach with a bowl of water and a towel, Apophis called himself a fool. That would take ages. He required peaches now. Ah, that was the name, of course. They grew on bushes, right? So he would probably have to plan a deeper incursion of some kind…

Hobnailed boots casually violating the polished black marble floor ended that little fantasy, however. Slightly annoyed, the Serpent set his sights back onto the distant stars as War approached him. Well, one of them anyways…

"Apophis…"

"Camulus… I see the concept of sleeves is still foreign to you."

"You are one to talk… Though I suppose it is easier getting a belly rub from that little sissy you call a Lo'taur in that attire. I guess I should give you credit for leaving the Crown at home, at least..."

"The Khepresh by right is for Ra's heir to wear, and it will eventually come to rest on the right head."

"I am not sure Amun-Ra would agree, but if you think so…"

"I _think_ you are here to annoy me more than you usually do. If it is your purpose to play jester on this occasion, let me tell you your talents are lacking. Go practice on someone else."

Camulus tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. Not one to rise to taunts easily, he had in turn always displayed a knack for infuriating Apophis. Still, he was here for other reasons of course. For a minute they just stood there, side by side, eyes staring into infinity, before he spoke again.

"It seems you have been rather conservative in your attempts lately. Running low on troops, are you? And here I thought Cronus' little love taps had just left you yearning for more..."

"You are welcome to come and see for yourself, as always. But then again you and Aker are not exactly on the most friendly of terms, are you?" Camulus and Apophis didn't share a border, what with his empire, if a bunch of irradiated core worlds qualified as such, being located in a different spiral arm. Territories were rather densely packed over there and no one would like to see another's troops passing through his space, least of all Aker, who had direct access to Ra's domain, whereas Camulus had not. Which of course meant, if Camulus were to do something out of the ordinary, or anything really in this climate, Aker was bound to get rather twitchy.

"Such a shame for you, really, being so far away from anything that matters. Then again it must be nice, having nothing to worry about..." and nothing to gain. Camulus was literally wedged in on all sides but one, with no unclaimed worlds anywhere near. He could try and cross the void in between the spiral arms, establish a beachhead over here and take it from there, and as far as Apophis was concerned, he was welcome to do so. The way he saw it, Camulus could only weaken himself in the process – and distract Amun while he was at it. Amun, how he enjoyed calling him by his true name instead of his assumed title. The fact that he could only dare do so in the privacy of his mind irked him quite a bit, but that only served to make him do it more and more frequently as time went by.

"Oh, you needn't worry on my behalf. With all the excitement you all are having over here, I am plenty entertained. And as far as Aker goes, it seems he has recently had a little scoff with Amaterasu, or so I have heard. I was actually wondering if you knew anything about it."

He couldn't recall, actually. Which probably meant Camulus was lying. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, it was how all good diplomacy started. But what was the point? Was he trying to tempt Apophis into seeking alternative avenues of expansion? Was he seeking an alliance? Or maybe it was neither, in which case Aker might very well be in for a world of hurt. Amaterasu was in a similar position to Camulus. No direct access to the honeypot, she could only stare in envy while Aker proceeded to fatten himself. As he had already begun to do, absorbing fringeworlds and potential staging grounds in preparation for an attack, that much he knew about.

In other words, Camulus and Amaterasu had both a vested interest and a common enemy and he was here to test the waters. Amun would certainly not care if they divided Aker's territory between them and was in no position to do anything anyway, but Apophis could very well mess everything up for them, being very close to the potential war zone himself. Amaterasu had a border with Apophis, Camulus had not, so the God of War was the obvious choice to send to talk to him. That Camulus had waited so long to approach, less than an hour before the first session, spoke volumes as to the severity of the situation.

"It wouldn't surprise me if he had. And he has always struck me as a little greedy. Like many of the upstarts, they tend to bite of more than they can swallow." Aker was in fact carefully expanding, not wanting to draw too much of Amun's attention but, unwilling to let this chance go to waste, manoeuvring his forces into position without exposing his flanks, an advantage of the more densely packed nature of the near core worlds. He was very aware that he was dancing on a razor's edge if Apophis' scout reports were any indication. No need to mention any of this, though.

"Not that I would want to have anything to do with it, of course. Then again, who knows. Fortune can be found in the most curious of places." He turned, so did Camulus and they locked eyes for the first time in a century. "If one just knows what to trade for it…"

Apophis doubted very much that Aker could be goaded into exposing his coreward border for anything less than a full blown invasion from him, he had seen the garrisons he had raised close to the one he shared with him. But again, Camulus didn't need to know that. If the two were committed to this war anyway, a little encouragement was all they needed and he was willing to sacrifice one or two regiments if it meant those two would run head first into a wall. The costlier for them, the better for him and one less border to worry about. Of course that also meant he could not risk antagonizing Amaterasu over something as trivial as a stone fruit. Curses! He would have to get them elsewhere…

It was only one of dozens such talks that he had both initiated and been part of these past three days. As the participants, guests and petitioners to the Council arrived one by one, deals were made, threats were spoken, old grudges were either settled or found new fuel. The official sessions tended to be heated, often short, with large intervals between. One reason for that being that what went on behind the scenes was just as important, if not more so, as the official show. Personally, Apophis suspected that these little deals and promises made a bigger contribution to governing the realm than the meetings themselves… So far he had traded insults with Cronus, listened to one of Olokun's monologues, complimented Bastet on her choice of a Lo'taur and had Aker approach him for a little chat, much like this one. Respectively that meant he would have to increase his border guards against further "love taps", that Camulus had apparently covered his bases with his other neighbour whose interests now lay somewhere else while a certain cat was apparently itching to get some more breathing room. And then there was Aker, who seemed equally unwilling to back down from what he was doing, though he was doing it smartly, much like Apophis himself, trying to avoid the very attention he was about to get in spades. His very private talk with Heru'ur had not gone well by comparison, his Brother's lone surviving son being just as much of a prick as he remembered. So far it seemed he would have to get that copper elsewhere. Overall, however, he was in a very good starting mood as he made his way to the council chamber, doing his best to ignore the Ram-Guards in full combat gear that lined the gallery leading towards it. If he could read this crowd right, hardly anyone was at all interested in what Amun actually had to say. Aker, Bastet, Kali, Cronus, ultimately he himself, they were not going to back down and the station was abuzz with pre-war activity. Trade was booming and he could all but hear the sharpening of the proverbial daggers. Exciting times lay ahead – if he survived the boredom of the next hours, that was…

Walking by the one Jaffa with an open helmet, _Amun's_ first prime who was sporting the old symbol on his forehead while a new tattoo surrounded one of his eyes, Apophis smiled after surveying the room. He was almost last, but not late. Let the others sit in waiting, his time was too precious for that. He took his seat and looked around some more, searching for anyone he hadn't met yet, trying to spy the seating order. It was an open circle of seats, as usual, with a larger gap where Ra's throne used to be. Only this time the gap was much larger than before, placing the throne squarely in everyone's sight. Apophis himself was seated almost to the far right, with only Cronus separating him from the gap, Amaterasu to his left. On the other side there was Ba'al, who he was glad to have almost no dealings with, Morrigan and Yu, with Kali and Svarog closer to his own seat again. Right in the centre, the shining throne all but forced in his face, sat Heru'ur, with that smug smile of his almost warranting another chair. He was the only one to attend in actual combat armor, his eyes promising invasion to anyone who dared annoy him. Well, that was one way to make a statement.

His nephew's place in the middle and the arrangement of the others was curious only because the flanks mirrored their position in the galaxy while the centre did not. Put us all in our place, show us he doesn't care about our personal differences, but demonstrate to the ones in the middle that he knew very well what they were doing. More interesting was the second row of seats. Larger in number if lesser in style, this room might never have been this full before. He spied Ares, Raiden, Moloc and an annoyed Nirrti, who had petitioned numerous times over the last two centuries to join the Council proper. But there were many more, 24, he counted, most of them he had at least heard about if never spoken to. And while Ares and Nirrti at least had the worlds and military to warrant being here, the others were second best. All had domains in their own right and were at least not completely hopeless, but none could even begin to rival a System Lord. For the next few minutes Apophis amused himself grouping together a few of those he knew enough about, waging campaigns against them in his head in varying constellations. They were probably here to support Amun, for they would be fools to openly oppose him. Apparently the old man was in need of approval.

Just minutes later, their glorious leader finally deemed it time to grace them with their presence. After every last Jaffa had left the room the doors closed and Apophis' mind slipped into protocol mode while his subconscious fled to more pleasant thoughts. With all these potential targets in the room, there had to be one who would not be all too miffed over loosing a peach plantation…

* * *

 **Dungeon of Bahal, temporary Arena**

Usually I pitied the mortals, who were forced to live their lives confined to a single point of view. But even I had to admit, sometimes omnipresence was a burden. Right now, for example, I would have much preferred not to see this. Another plasma ball got swallowed by the dark tinged glass separating me from what remained of maybe the worst meelee I had ever seen. They all tried this, at least once or twice per match, making it seem like coincidence, like a shot gone wild – one that was always aimed for my head. But honestly, I was too depressed to care.

"Is that all you have, Demon? Once more I am victorious! Once more your army of traitors has failed! Let it be known that Vatir of Hebron, Defender of the Faith still stands! For the glory of aaaagh…."

Another bout, another failure. In one on one combat, it became blatantly apparent just how big the difference was between a human with a staff and a warrior with a lifetime of training. For all the magic of the Training Rooms my Raiders were just that, Farmers given weapons, while the Jaffa had spent their entire lives preparing for war. This one wasn't even all that impressive, mowing down three of the newest recruits, the more accomplished ones had beaten four times that number without being touched. It was pathetic. Worse than that, it was unavoidable. The way the magic worked was the longer any given warrior worked out inside a designated raining room, the sum of his martial knowledge got imprinted on it and was subsequently redistributed to anybody else. Muscle growth was faster, focus was sharper, memory came easier. That way, green recruits advanced to veteran status ready for combat in weeks instead of years, even though most of them found actual combat to be a rather sharp contrast when eventually thrown into it. Regiments still had to be bloodied.

The problem was, absorbing completely new knowledge took time and more importantly, took a willing template. None of the farmers had ever held a staff weapon before, no Ma'tok master had ever trained in my dungeons. As such, my "army" had to start from scratch. They learned faster than any normal man would, because every single advancement was quickly distributed to anyone else, but they still had no idea what they were doing. Spear training was similar and would probably help. Training them to stand in formation, aiming their volleys carefully while a horde of skeletons charged their line had definitely been a good idea. Whoever could withstand that could withstand anything. And I wasn't exactly loosing either. The Raid Battalion had been a great success. Eight worlds taken so far, their guardians broken by sheer force of numbers, their stocks raided, their villages burned and the survivors herded through the ring. Those in the vicinity, at least. I had no idea how fast those skyships were or where they were stationed, or even how far one even had to travel in between worlds, so I had limited myself to short incursions, no more than a week with boots on the ground before pulling out again and leaving the clean up to whoever else cared. One raid had even resulted in the first passable recruits for either the magic breeding program or experimentation into an alternative. The inhabitants of that particular world had yielded one individual which might be worth teaching personally and a handful that would at least eventually be able to learn how to do something worthwhile. Even the lowest of them would find a use, if only as raw material. It was going so well that I was in the process of expanding the area around the Chappa'ai again, adding two Citadels while leaving space for a third. The new arrivals would stay there, I would pluck out the suitable ones for the different jobs and leave the rest to stew. If I knew humans, they would ripen over time and at the very least they would form a buffer between me and any attack that made it that far. The ring itself was fortified enough for the time being and the barracks lay in between it and the rest of the dungeon so that was only a remote possibility. Whatever other surprise could be chucked through would surely be stopped by the heavily enchanted bedrock surrounding the mysterious artefact. After the Imps had been done with it, even they would have a hard time getting through.

That was also pretty much the reason why I was holding these little gladiatorial bouts here in this pit instead of a proper arena. The big one was very much a work in progress and would remain as such for quite a while, it had been meant to serve as a training room of sorts for Imps after all. All the rooms were planned, the schematics were finished, the whole structure already existed in my mind, superimposed upon the real world – but hollowing out that big of a cavern and reinforcing the ceiling took uncounted manhours, even for my tireless little workers. They simply reached their optimum experience before much got done and then I send them out into the dungeon to do more important work.

By and large I had stopped summoning Imps by now, the cumulative upkeep was just horrendous after you got past a certain number and with all this Naquadah at hand I thought it more prudent to build as many Mana batteries as possible instead of blowing all that power into the wind. I was in no hurry to excavate, but I might need the Mana sometime soon, I had a feeling. Still, Imps suffered attrition like any other workforce. Pitfalls, tunnels collapsing before they were fortified, exploding gas pockets, every now and again one just stumbled and impaled himself onto his own pick, much to his brothers' amusement. And then there was their inherent stupidity.

The Jaffa before me had been rather rudely interrupted by an Imp jumping on his back from behind and covering his eyes, while all around him trapdoors opened, releasing others. The idea was to swamp him as fast as possible and thereby minimize casualties. A single blast to the centre torso would kill even an armoured Combat Imp, yet while it was a magnificent weapon for dealing with heavy infantry, the staff's rate of fire made it a sub par choice when faced with a large number of lightly armoured opponents. They had these small lightning casters as well, which would have been better suited for the task, hence me not giving the gladiators any. Unfortunately, the Jaffa pulled the uninvited guest of his shoulders immediately and stomped him flat fast enough to level a few shots at the approaching horde, and instead of hiding behind their less experienced younger kin, the more veteran ones almost always cast a spell of haste, rushing to the front in their zeal to fulfil any given task – and thus were the first to get shot. They were just Imps, I kept telling myself while trying to resist the urge to go and find someone to strangle. Just Imps. That was just the way it was….

And so, eventually the defeated but not humbled demon slayer wannabe would be dragged from the combat pit, bound and gagged, because even enthusiastic kicking and stomping had not managed to convince him that his captors didn't care for his oaths of vengeance and just wanted him to shut up. I faintly remembered one Keeper who had tried his hands at Alchemy in the most intriguing way, combining summoning spells with less Arcane and more biologic means, to create four strains of Goblinoids he could call forth in almost unlimited numbers. They too had been rather lacking in the brains department and had behaved so similar to Imps in many regards that I just knew what had formed the basis for that spell. In my spare time I sometimes tried to recreate his achievement, the results of which had been impressive enough, but my motivation had been curiosity mostly. With the overabundance of minions pooling in from the Underworld, there simply had never been the need and relying on masses of cannon fodder alone to solve everything seemed so, so inelegant. It was a stroke of irony, I supposed, that this very spell would now seem to be the perfect counter to the Jaffa warriors and armies I would be facing in the near future…

* * *

 **Hasara Station, Day eight of the Summit**

With another round of posturing, shouting and delusion, most of the above committed by still-not-Supreme-System-Lord-Amun-Ra come to an end, Apophis approached his quarters to rest for the evening, his mind clouded with dark thoughts. It was unavoidable. Before the summit was over, Amun would be crowned their ruler, if only officially. There wasn't enough of an undercurrent to really oppose him and thus the vote would be unanimous, with any who dared to deny him quickly clobbered into dust to pose as an example. No one wanted to be made this example, but more so, no one wanted this to happen period, because it would end this era of opportunity. As things stood, Aker would be the first to vote for him and probably the loudest, because if he didn't, there was the very real possibility that he wouldn't leave the station alive, his worlds passed out piecemeal to those who coveted them already. And with that, Amun would have the council under control. No, all they could do – and had done, Apophis noted with glee – was to push back the vote again and again in favour of other topics, postpone the inevitable for laughs, because that was the only level of resistance they could dare manage.

"Wine!" He commanded as he entered his quarters, his Lo'taur responding immediately. Before Apophis even sat down in between the pillows, a carafe was on the way, moments later he could hear a goblet being filled. Reaching for it, he waved him away with the other hand. Most trusted servant he might have been, but he was, after all, just a slave. All the more irritating when he didn't comply. Apophis growled, noticing – really noticing – his slave for the first time in weeks. It came with the territory. Slaves did as they were told, they moved unseen and were extensions of a Master's will when they did, no more than cogs in a machine. And a good machine one would only notice when it suddenly broke.

"What?" he enquired, his displeasure obvious.

"My apologies, my Lord, but while the council was convening, someone came to see me. It was the personal attendant to the Queen Amaunet."

Apophis piqued at that, all his brooding forgotten in an instant. He sat up, sat down the goblet and stared at the bearer of the good news. In the game of cloak and daggers one Lord could go and talk to another, sure enough. Some Lords could summon others and the refusal of such a summon was a statement all in itself. There was no actual spying going on at Hasara, at least not much, still, he was reasonably sure that a number of others had at least a cursory knowledge by now about who had had been talking to whom, if not about what. And such… overhearing would definitely notice the Queen of Amun-Ra, Supreme System Lord presumptuous, leaving her quarters for a talk with mighty Apophis, the Serpent, brother to Ra himself. Rumours would run high. Speculations and fears would squash plans and change freshly made politics.

But there were more subtle ways to do this. No one noticed a slave, especially not during council sessions, when they had the run of the station. And so when someone wanted to talk to someone else in private, what better way then to send one's Lo'Taur to meet with theirs…

"She has summoned me…"

"Yes, my Lord. The Queen requests your presence at your convenience, later this night." Which was a subtle reminder that storming out of his quarters now would defeat the purpose of the ruse. He would wait until the station time proclaimed it midnight, by then everyone else should be asleep. Or maybe not. He called for his stripped Kara Kesh to be brought to him. The integrated hologram projector had both the layout of the station and the current occupancies saved. There were others he suspected were in cahoots and would likely call a meeting like this at one point during the summit. It wouldn't do to run into any of them by chance on his way to Amaunet…

This time, his slave responded promptly to his waving him away, bowing even deeper than usual, but Apophis had already phased his existence out again. He had a route to plan.

* * *

 **Hasara Station, close to midnight**

Hasara's Corridors were forever illuminated by artificial light of course, no matter the time of day, so skulking about was not exactly possible. Then again, there was hardly any Goa'uld on the station who would have the knowledge of how "skulking" actually worked. They were gods, not Assassins, they had servants for nonsense like that. So Apophis strode through the corridor like he would on any other day, with the single exception that his Lo'taur was preceding him. Better any onlooker saw him instead of Apophis himself.

When he reached the private chambers of the queen Amaunet, he found the closest corridors devoid of guards however. Unusual, but it certainly ascertained him that this meeting was even more clandestine than he had dared hope. If Amaunet didn't trust her Jaffa with this knowledge, that meant she didn't trust her husband with it. His Lo'taur awaited him at the door, head lowered, and followed him inside when it opened, then closed again as soon as they had passed. After, he vanished from Apophis' mind.

"Apophis… you took your time…"

"Rest assured, mylady, I would not have missed this for the price of four worlds." For what a sight she was. Sprawled out on the overly large couch, she was every bit the picture of a goddess. Her dress, make-up, even her jewellery, all only served to frame the natural beauty of her, though he was quite aware that the sheer power she incorporated had a large part in the attraction he felt towards this woman. She was Amun's queen. She was the Queen. Not merely one of those who ensured the continued supply of symbiotes to keep his Jaffa armies alive. No, she had actual power. An entire empire of her own within the larger territory that was her husbands. She had Jaffa – who nominally answered to her husband – she had slaves, most importantly ships and she had amassed all this in centuries of work, nipping away at Amun whenever she could behind the scenes. Maybe most importantly, she had the ear of her Pharaoh – and with the old fart being who he was that probably meant he danced to her tune whenever she played…

Amaunet gestured to an empty cushioned chair, then glared somewhere he couldn't be bothered to follow and a chalice of wine was placed before him. He didn't dare touch it yet.

"I couldn't help but notice your absence today, my queen. The talks are dull at the best of times, but without your presence, they were positively deadening. My only solace was that with the vote tomorrow, this will finally be over."

"Are you in such a hurry to get back to your domain, then?"

"Governing the galaxy is a tough calling, as I am sure you know yourself, mylady. Though it pleases me we could talk one last time before the daily routine swallows me again." He raised his chalice in salute.

Amaunet gave the lightest of shrugs, then raised her own and their eyes met before drinking.

"It might be a break for you, but for my part, I will be glad for this to end. The daily arrangements of the summit are beginning to bore me. There are far too many here that do not seem to properly appreciate the honour they have been given..."

"They are but shadows, compared to the System Lords. But I suppose there was purpose to them being here. In the current chaos a little reassurance will go a long way, surely."

"It was the idea, anyway…" She set down the chalice, leaned back and let her blonde hair sprawl all over the assorted cushions like liquid gold. He could barely take his eyes of her. "Still, it will not stop others from seeking to gorge themselves on what they presume to be a corpse. Far too many who have barely a single system to their name."

"Gnats, nothing more. They will realize their folly or break under its weight. Most of these minor Lords do not have even one Ha'tak to command, how could they possibly hold what they have taken. I am sure, as soon as your husband's fleet makes its presence known, they will fall in line." What was her game here? Apophis wondered.

"Is that how you would do it then? Cow the vain and the pretenders with the might of your armies? Make them prostrate themselves before their rightful ruler?"

Apophis shrugged. "Fringeworlds are of little importance. A world here, a world there, it is not enough to even warrant notice. What good would it do to waste manpower or ships on them at this point? For a minor Lord an additional mining world is important, if he is granted the time to make use of it. But what can he do in the next few months? How much Naquadah can he possibly mine before order is restored and he is presented the bill? No, I would let these do as they please for the moment. Let them work the slaves to death for the extra ton it will get them. Or let them improve those worlds they took, in the hopes of toadying up to me when I return. In either case, when I take them and their stockpiles back, my Empire will be better for it. My concerns would have to be on a higher level. On former employees perhaps…?" He saw her eyes narrow at this.

"Gheb."

"Indeed, mylady. The whole of the council, whether they admit it or not, is looking towards the outcome of this conflict."

"A conflict that would be over already if not for the absurd numbers of ships that have to be stationed to defend our borders." She couldn't be jockeying for his support, could she? How could she possibly think he was interested? So he shrugged.

"A prudent course of action by your husband, surely… But how could a mere Sector Commander hope to stand against the Supreme System Lord…"

"Former. Sector Commander. He lost the right to that title when he dared take the entire eastern fleet for himself and declare himself Pharaoh!" Now that was news. He had tried to assess Gheb's strength but had been unable to get accurate numbers so far. It was simply too far away, he didn't have all that many scouts out there.

"And what of Olokun?" The old fish head had borders with both Nirrti and Camulus. With Camulus otherwise occupied, preparing his joint invasion with Amaterasu, Apophis doubted he would let an opportunity like this slide. If Gheb had really taken all of the coreward territories, that would put him right on Olokun's doorstep.

"What of him? He is busy probably, incorporating whatever planets he can into his domain, now that we cannot defend them anymore." So not all of them, then. Clever. The rest of the Galaxy assumed that Gheb, what with the front line reaching so deep into Amun's territory, had taken a very large part of the pie indeed, and since he was holding off Amun's forces pretty well so far, had the manpower to boot. But apparently he had fooled them all. By leaving a buffer in between him and Olokun, he was basically telling the System Lord to take those worlds. Amun could not defend them and Gheb would not, so he didn't have to waste ships on his coreward border and could instead concentrate all of his power on Amun. Very clever indeed.

"It was a mistake not to invite him." And just like that, Apophis had to try very hard not to choke on his wine. Glancing over the rim of his chalice, he could see Amaunet was not looking at him, sipping from her own drink and addressing the empty room. "My husband could have ended this war with the summit. Legitimize Gheb, grant him a territory he would not need to fight for, secure his flank against Olokun and free our forces to end this chaos. Instead, we are dying a death of a thousand cuts…" Well, look at that. He had thought her feeding him intel had been a big deal. But open disagreement? His thoughts went back to the few worlds he absolutely knew she controlled herself, listing their names and locations in the galaxy, then comparing other interests in the same area. Quite a few of them were close to his own borders, now that he thought about it. Amun and Amaunet, the union had never been one of love or even mutual interest. While the queen was older than him, she was much younger than the old ox, infact, the union had been announced at a sufficiently suspicious time back then that he had always wondered just how much say his brother Ra had had in it. A match made in heaven, so to say. Looking her over again Apophis smiled inwardly. There certainly were less pleasant guard dogs out there, no wonder Amun hadn't complained all that much. Still, maybe this wasn't the kind of talk they should be having on this station after all…

"That is… certainly a way to look at things." She was still not looking his way, indeed almost ignoring him and Apophis tried to hastily rearrange his thoughts. Then his gaze fell on a datapad lying on the table, almost next to the fruit plate – and very close to him. He was almost sure it had not been there a few minutes earlier. Setting down his chalice he took the bait. A list of planets, it seemed like. Names, populations, yields, the entire hogwash. One or two he even recognized, they were all on the small side, located suspiciously close to his borders and far on the rimward side of Amun's interest.

"I was planning a vacation earlier. After all this commotion, I am going to need some time to relax. And you did keep me waiting quite a while..."

"My deepest apologies, then, mylady. Allow me to make up for it by assisting you in your plans." Rearranging the list somewhat, Apophis flipped to the top of the list one of the two he remembered, then sat down the pad again. Now Amaunet was looking at him. "I do hope you will find your vacation inspiring. Maybe I should make time for one as well…"

"Maybe you should… But do so on your own time. I suggest you get to it." He smiled, Stood up and bowed, then turned to leave without a second look at the pad, the table or the magnificent creature behind it. This had been more illuminating then he had ever dared to hope.

On his way back to his quarters he wondered what might have brought this sudden change in the queen's ambitions about, but upon arrival, the question answered itself, in the form of an encrypted communiqué from his palace. Send to his ship by subspace communicator, then delivered by runner to his quarters.

Gheb had broken through. After a devastating defeat at one of Amun's border fortresses, their Lord's forces in that region were all but routed and if Apophis was any judge, there would be flanking manoeuvres coming in the next couple of days. Apparently Gheb had not much cared about the armistice usually in place during a summit, seeing how he was not invited, or maybe he had waited to seize this opportunity precisely because there would be a meeting. Because as sure as a sun was rising this very moment over one of his many worlds, this summit was now officially over. Apophis was quite sure that other system Lords had been or would be awoken all over the station, reading messages very similar to this one. Aker especially would be very encouraged to hear of it, but all the others would recognize it as the break that it was. Amun had lost but a single battle here, but as far as Apophis was concerned, he had just lost the war. With Gheb on the advance, Aker would feel empowered. Kali would march in, Bastet would do the same and Cronus would quite probably rethink his plans to give Apophis a bad time in favour of this new development. With this one victory, delivered at a crucial time, Gheb had just started a feeding frenzy. All System Lords were out of the loop, days away from their nets of power. The feeling of being left out and falling behind was an illusion, but it was real regardless.

The game was on again, the stakes had been raised massively – and the best part of it all? The planned vote would most definitely fall through now.

* * *

 **Dungeon of Bahal, Ring Room**

Scrying through a Chappa'ai was almost an art form, mostly because of the limiting mechanics of the ring. Much like it disassembled any physical object passing through – the idea was conjecture, but it was pretty much the only explanation as to how this thing could act as a dis-enchanter and curse beaker as well as it did – it did the same to any other spell. Unfortunately, while it could reassemble any living being and even the most intricate of mechanisms on the other side, the same could not be said for magic spells. Throw a clockwork engine through? No problem. It would skip the seven or so seconds needed to travel through the portal, but would start ticking again on the other side. A fireball? Not so much. Throw one of these in and all that would emerge on the other side was a chaotic burst of Mana. I had experimented a bit here. A week under forced labour in a library had driven a nimble fingered minion insane, but under the pressure of my mind she had created a set of complex clockwork engines, all of which had survived the transit. Then had come the spells – with decidedly less success.

Fireballs? Exploded.

Curses? Fizzled.

Healing spells? A rather large shock wave, strong enough to blow the targeted minion of his feet, which really, really, really should not have happened. I had to look into that some other time.

The only thing that had travelled reasonably unimpeded had been one variety of a targeted lightning spell. I had fired an arc in and an arc had emerged on the other side, only it had veered off target immediately, carving blackened gashes into the ground and almost frying the bystanders. That had probably been the second most frustrating thing about that phase. Since I had not yet adapted the scrying spell back then, I had had to pull any data of the proceedings out of the memories of strategically placed minions on the target planet. The human mind wasn't all that suited to accurately report or even record data under stress, so doing anything like this was always a pain…

The bigger frustration had come immediately after, of course, when a raid battalion had set out on schedule to subdue another target – and I had suddenly realized that the staffs and cannons they were carrying along were so much more complex than even the most convoluted clock I had ever seen and that I had wasted a week of my time finding out something that I already knew, the knowledge gleaned from the spell side of things being the only saving grace of the whole situation.

The reason the lightning had gone wild? It was a "creative" spell, not a "formative" one. Mana was expended on casting not to form a lightning like effect, but to actually create a lightning arc, a concentration of negative potential as my late pet Goa'uld ghost had called it. This entirely mundane thing then shot forward, sheathed in several arcane layers for added utility, which included one responsible for target finding. The Ring had promptly eaten the latter but allowed the former to persevere. And then it had hit me. It wasn't magic that the Ring had a problem with. Not per sé. It was structure. I knew from my experiments with minions, enchantments and Skeletons that the machine somehow dissolved whatever went through. You had to break an enchanted item into pretty small pieces to have the enchantment itself give up and break. Having minions with an actual soul travel through a gate gave me a weird feeling, as if something was trying to bind their soul, but only for a few seconds before they stumbled out the other side in a body which I now suspected was not their own, but an entirely new one. A copy, pieced together from the fragments, infused with the original's soul.

That would explain why neither my skeletons nor my body could use the gate network. Skeletons used the bones of their former body as a phylactery of sorts. Several of those were engraved with binding runes, only when a critical number of them was erased did the binding break and release what was left of the tortured soul into the afterlife. Using the Chappa'ai broke all at once. When the bones came into existence again, so did the binding runes, but the soul they were supposed to hold was already gone.

Similar to that, the damn thing would break down my own body completely, and the effect would be the same as if I had been hit by a cannon. My heart would feel the shock of the disconnection and go into hibernation until the next sunrise. Even if the gate could reassemble me on the other side, which it couldn't, with me asleep the body would probably just disintegrate again.

But the Mana itself travelled through! The raw power of the lightning strike persisted. Whatever was shoved through was broken down into whatever base components the ring could handle, catalogued, transported and reassembled. In a way it was like reverse spell engineering, done in a split second, only that the Ring was an inanimate object, and therefore couldn't cast spells! When the Mana arrived at the target location, along with the orders of the sending ring, telling the receiving one what he was to do with them, it would basically try and create the lightning spell without casting it and fail, thus leading to localized chaos. So what I had to do was rearrange the transported Mana myself, or better yet, send through raw Mana and cast the spell on the other side. That wasn't actually all that hard, when you thought about it. When one threw a fireball, it wasn't the hand that produced it but the mind, grasping the spell in your hand was just the easiest way to think about it. Still, you could just as well make it appear dancing on top of your finger or fire it our of your arse. Projecting the spell a few meters to the right was no big deal at all.

A pity that wouldn't work for Imps. Those had to be cast on land connected to the heart, but to claim land in the first place, I needed claimed land nearby. Even linked the rings didn't qualify, so it was another case of the chicken without the hatchery, as it were.

Still, now that I had figured out the trick my policy of raiding changed accordingly.

Step one: Torture a few Jaffa until one of them squealed. The rate was bad, but I usually got a few addresses out of every batch of three, and a few more if they had children which I then promised not to have roasted alive.

Step two: Open the ring and scry the target for any pyramids, floating or otherwise. If there was one, make a note and move on to the next target, but if there wasn't, move on to…

Step three: Conjure up the biggest ball of natural fire possible and lob it through the ring, turning any defenders into crispy husks but leaving their gear intact, if somewhat in need of cooling.

Finally, step four: send one or two battalions with their standing orders to take, loot, steal, plunder, pilfer or pillage anything that wasn't nailed to the ground and set fire to everything else.

Farmsteads, mining outposts, villages, entire herds of wildlife or cattle, in one case the population of a small town, I had them take it all. In the case of the latter, step three had set the city ablaze, so the inhabitants had been more or less happy to get out of their fire and into my frying pan. Malek was still running himself ragged trying to bring a semblance of order to all the refugees now trying to adjust to their new living situation in the citadels around the gate, and was failing miserably, much to my amusement.

Any stocks of materials, be it wood or metal of whatever kind, I had pilfered as well. Not that I had need of either, it was more a case of me not needing my enemy to have them. By now I had Naquadah coming out my ethereal ears, mostly because I still couldn't smelt the stuff. Recent experimentation in this regard had revealed that yes, you could heat it like any other metal. It was a phenomenal heat sink with an abnormal capacity that would still feel cold to the touch after being left in a fire for a few hours, but it could be heated. Only problem was, long before it got to the point of melting or even to the point of being overly malleable – Naquadah exploded rather violently, totalling another lab complex and several miles of grassland around it. How was I supposed to find out anything about this stuff when I could only dare experiment with minute quantities of it for fear of cracking the planet in half when something inevitably went wrong? Why was everything important in this galaxy so hell bend on exploding? And how was I supposed to smelt Naquadah when it committed suicide before reaching its melting point?

Not that it mattered all that much at the moment, the explosive qualities of Naquadah actually warmed my black heart. My new bombards were based on the very idea. And I knew for a fact that it could be done, the staffs were made from an alloy of mostly iron and Naquadah after all. If the Goa'uld had found a way to do it, so would I eventually. By that time I would have a thousand vaults stocked to the ceiling with the stubborn metal and then, then mass production would be my pointy eared bitch, as the dwarves were so fond of saying.

Until that day, I could always scavenge what I needed. The Ma'tok staffs, the Zat'niki'tel lightning casters, even the cannons were durable to a ridiculous degree, though salvaging cannons could be tricky. You had to blow up the guy manning them without destroying the cannon along with him and since the only reliable way to hit anything with a staff at range was massed volley fire I didn't have as many working ones as I would have wanted. Produced a lot of spare parts, though.

I sighed once more as yet another of my minions got shot in the back by a dying Jaffa he had neglected to finish off. You could give a peasant arcane wonders and send him out to kill your enemies, but at his heart he would remain a peasant. What I wouldn't have given for a single tribe of goblins right about now. Those had to be physically restrained from looting corpses or from creating their own if there were not enough of them.

But there was no use complaining. You went to war with the peasants you had, not with the cut throats you wanted. If anything, this was a good test for them. The first world where they had to fight more than a few left over Jaffa resorting to guerilla tactics or a gaggle of farmers with pitchforks. This lot had their own garrison outside the town, a small settlement in its own right which housed both them, their slaves, their livestock and most importantly their families. I knew enough about Jaffa by now to realize how much that last little detail mattered to them. They wouldn't care all that much about slaves or cattle, and wouldn't think twice before using them as meat shields, but if it meant protecting their progeny, their legacy as they saw it, then they would stand their ground to the last man. Worse, they would try and take back the gate if I gave them half a chance, so I had to keep the pressure up. Already two additional battalions were suited up and on their way to the ring room, their commanders still a little wobbly on their feet from hearing my voice in their heads. They would recover in time to have their men reinforce the front. A little blooding did a unit good, but I would like to avoid a rout if at all possible.

Then I scryed again, deeper into Jaffa territory this time and wondered if it would be enough. They were properly dug in here, cannon emplacements along the road to the garrison, overlapping fields of fire and plenty of cover for their infantry. This would be bloody indeed...

"Maybe I should send the prototype with them…." and I sent a feeler towards the central torture chamber, where a single Jaffa sat in a small cell, chained tightly to the wall and magically sedated.

The "Prototype". A mishmash chaos experiment and more of a hobby really than a proper project, was a Jaffa so thoroughly broken and insane he could hardly be called a sentient being anymore. He would do anything, as long as it was I who implanted the task into his scrambled brains. Remarkable in a way, as you could simply not do this to a human. The parasite in the Jaffa's pouch along with their somewhat enhanced physique were the only things keeping his frayed little mind from shutting down, and would continue to do so for another month or so, I estimated.

The first idea had been to create an alternative to undead troops, zombies of a kind. I couldn't just draft people to become minions, I needed their consent. More or less, at least. Dark Mistresses had their way around that but I didn't have anyone capable of that level of arcane subtlety. Half dead insane Jaffa charging enemy lines without a care for their own lives ahead of my regular troops had sounded like a good idea at the time, but the effort involved simply seemed unreasonable now.

The next idea had been to just produce a few, hand them two plates, made of Naquadah and Potassium respectively, then tell them to "go over there and smash them together", blowing whatever "there" was to kingdom come. So far the risk of something going catastrophically pear shaped with that had me refrain from actually trying it out either, however. Nothing more embarrassing than vaporizing your own army by mistake.

After changing the plan again, I had finally found a use for him as a test bed for both the Bombard and the Warlord Cabal projects. He wouldn't be much use for either of them in his current state, but I could test out some concepts on his sorry hide.

The bombards I usually used could be disassembled and relocated by Imps without much ado and while they were not powerful enough to actually breach Jaffa plate armour, the explosive force itself was barely enough to seriously hurt anyone close enough. It would kill anyone hit directly through sheer kinetics, though. Send him flying like a ragdoll, broken inside his protective shell. Whoever had designed these originally had done a remarkable job, I had to admit and as a result, while I still had some of those cannons in storage, there had been a need of innovation. The new Naquadah Bombard, codename MKI for now, borrowed a lot from its predecessor. The parts could be put together by Imps, the cannon itself could auto track and would fire on anything I deemed hostile without needing my direct input. This was different for the ones closest to the dungeon heart, however, those would fire on anything that moved and was not a minion of mine, prompting Malek to put up warning signs. What was new here was the overall increase in power. The MKI wasn't as powerful as a Jaffa Staff Cannon, regrettably, but it would never the less rip a Jaffa to pieces if it hit him full on. It could crack reinforced Bedrock after a few salvoes, which had impressed me to no end and had me looking into new ways of further reinforcing my walls. This came with a price, namely an immensely increased Mana cost for each shot. Try as I might, I was still not able to replicate whatever it was that went on inside a Staff Cannon and enabled them to fire such a large number of shots with only this green glowing liquid as a power source. This was somewhat offset by the sheer capacity of Naquadah based Mana Batteries however, so I wasn't all that worried.

Unfortunately, the MKI could not be carried through the Chappa'ai. There were active enchantments on the parts which would not survive the trip, and what more the MKI relied on a constant Mana supply from my heart, meaning it would only work on claimed land anyway. Thus I had designed the MKII, the first Bombard my troops would be able to carry with them when they went to battle. Originally I had just intended to project my power through the gate via those, to use the MKII to defend garrisons and outposts until I figured out how to claim land on other planets, which had to be possible somehow, but along the way I realized how useful a thing like that would be if you could take it along. Advance, set up, shoot up whatever was in front of you, advance, take it with you and do it all over again. My raiders would have no Imps to do it for them, which would probably become a problem of its own, but first I had to overcome the biggest functional hurdle I had ever faced. The Ring itself, which stubbornly refused to make anything easy for me.

It was entirely possible to build a magical machine that would initialize itself, land mines being the prime example. Most would lie hidden and inactive, invisible to most senses, but step on one and it would immediately do what it was designed to do, namely make you wish you had stepped on something else instead… Problem was, in order to do that, it needed power, Mana, which it couldn't conjure itself because it was an inanimate object. That was what internal Mana batteries were for, but I couldn't do that either, because full Mana batteries were not magically inert. And thus could not go through the ring. And while I could pump raw Mana through the gate, it would just dissipate there. I could cast spells remotely but I could not make a stable Mana conduit from one battery to another through a ring portal – yet.

Next avenue of approach? In theory, building a mystic construct without any active magic was doable, but to my knowledge no one had ever bothered, because honestly, why would you ever want to? In theory one could engrave all the necessary spells and enchantments onto the material itself, then set it all up and have a warlock jump start it. Only one problem with that…

So again the universe had proven the notion that things always came in threes: I wasn't allowed to use active magic in the construction. To offset that, I needed at least some Mana to jump start an inert machine, but I couldn't transfer it. Finally, I couldn't just have it conjured up because no one but me could do that. There were no Warlocks to do the deed for me and I myself could not leave the damn planet.

However.

After careful consideration of all my resources, the prototype was the first step to solve all of my problems at once. The human soul itself was a mystical construct! It was their soul that enabled warlocks to impose their will on the fabric of creation, that allowed living creatures to make use of Mana and the lack of which banned all Dead, most Undead and certainly all Automatons from trying to do the same. The barbarian tribes of these lands, Jaffa included, had lost for some inconceivable reason any and almost all access to their birthright – and I would now stop caring. I did not need the Universe's consent. They had the potential. If I had to cut their souls to ribbons and rip it out of them, that was exactly what I would do – and had done, with the prototype. One reason why he was less than sane was because cutting someone open, then taking out his major bones to inscribe them with spells, put them back in and sew him back together was, not surprisingly, traumatic. As a result of the procedure his eyes glowed blue from chaotic magicks all the time and you had to be careful with silver in his presence, but it had worked. He could travel through the ring and the spells would take all of one second to reignite within him. He could "do" magic even if he couldn't do anything with it. His lack of affinity for it also meant that it would kill him eventually, but this line of research would allow my minions to start bombards and other constructs, even cast a limited number of spells, thus allowing me to catch more Minions, so I didn't really care. Even if the soul of the final product would crumble after a year or so, that seemed not like such a bad idea anymore. Last week had netted me an entire village full of people who for some reason were at least one or two levels less hopeless in the magic affinity department than the rest I had recruited so far, one among them might even be worth tutoring personally. Those would last me a while and if there was one such batch to be found, there would be others and I would probably be able to salvage them as zombies or some such after they broke down. Wonder what the Goa'uld inside a Jaffa would have to say to something like that…

Bottom line, it would work sometime soon. Good thing too. The only other idea I had managed to think up so far was to create a living construct that could walk through the ring, set itself down and allow my other minions to fire it. I had seen it done, but I lacked all the other prerequisites. As was the case with all living beings, you couldn't just assemble them, you had to breed them, and with the biggest animal at my disposal being cattle, that would take a while. Plus the mess these things made in their stables was unbelievable...

I groaned as a whole score of my raiders was obliterated along with their cover by Jaffa cannon fire and was about to green light the experiment – when an epiphany suddenly hit me.

"This is either not my century, or this weird galaxy is beginning to rub off on me. I should have had this idea a lot sooner… What time was it?"

Not too long till sunrise. Good. A quick order to all Imps to secure what they were doing, then… ah. The relief battalions entered the ring room.

"You! Through the portal! Then stand before it and don't move!" The whole process was complicated enough under normal circumstances…. I followed his soul mentally as it hurtled through the unbelievable abyss in between the two rings. Then, when it arrived, I cast the spell, accounting for the changes I had made earlier to "Evil Eye".

"Possession"

Immediately the familiar haze came over me as the part of my consciousness centred on my body was deprived of all sensory input. Good, the spell had taken. I watched the green mist that had been my avatar float towards the blue puddle. The spell had been cast and the target had taken. It was formless now for all intents and purposes. It should work…

The mist entered the puddle and I remained awake, so far so good. I cast Evil eye on the other side and watched the mist emerge seven seconds later, float towards the chosen minions, who seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the whole affair. He spasmed for a second as it entered him, then I saw his lips curl up in a vicious grin far too wide for his human face to support yet mirroring my own feelings on the matter, felt my senses return to me and chanted again.

"Release"

Again the green mist, again the swirling particles, coiling around an invisible centre, solidifying into a form – and there I stood again, next to the pale man, in full armour and completely unhurt, breathing, for the first time since the start of this campaign, the air and the life of another world. I threw back my head and erupted in laughter, free and unadulterated. Both unbelieving of my own stupidity and expectant of the things to come. I laughed until I felt well and truly relieved. I let my eyes sweep over my army of minions in their cobbled together weapons and armour who were once again terrified of me for some reason. Then I turned towards the battle in the distance, a feral grin on my face and murder in my heart…

And then the portal shut down…

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 **It has to be said...**

 _ **Goa'uld Dynasties**_ _– According to the lore of the RPG, there have been three Goa'uld dynasties, the first dating back tens of thousands of years and the third ending when Replicarter came by to say hello. I will draw from the RPG's lore every now and again, but you won't_ _be_ _need_ _ing_ _any knowledge of it to understand the story._

 _ **Unas / Tau'ri**_ _– Both words apparently mean "the first ones" in one language or another. Which is both confusing and unfortunate. Also, I have never noticed it before writing this._

 _ **Cheops-Class**_ _– The pyramid shaped ship Ra used in the 1996 movie. Obviously more of a pleasure barge than an actual combat vessel. Unlike the Ha'tak, it actually fits on Egypt's pyramids…_

 _ **Khepresh**_ _– The Blue Crown, also called the War Crown of the Egyptian kings, you probably know this one from the movies._

 _ **My Vision of the Galaxy**_ _– NASA seems to think that the Milky Way Galaxy is a spiral with two arms emerging from a shared centre, that centre being somewhat bar-shaped. That has rather important implications when one wants to build an interstellar empire. For example, star density varies massively. If you picture a two pronged spiral in your mind, you have the centre, you have the stripes ( both made from stars and planets) and then you have the "in between the stripes" – where there is nothing. Thousands of lightyears of empty space, which you can't colonize unless you build space stations. Like rivers on Earth did, those would form natural borders for rivalling empires. The gulfs in between the spiral arms are in places far wider than the arms themselves which means if you try and establish a beachhead "over there", your supply lines would suddenly become horrendous while your opponent would be fighting on his own doorstep. Stargates alleviate that somewhat, of course, but Al'kesh and Ha'tak don't fit through them, and thousands of light years take quite a while to traverse even at 32,000 times c. So the way this looks like is the Goa'uld snaking their way along the spiral arms, slowly expanding while wrapping themselves around the core (which for the purposes of this story will be deemed uninhabitable, at least if you get too close). The picture I have taken as a base for my map can be found on Wikipedia, it's the artistic depiction provided by_ _JPL-Caltech._

 _ **Gods of the Galaxy**_ _– a Youtuber by the name of HorusNikopol has made a Goa'uld centric musicvideo by the name of "Ghost Division", from which I am drawing quite a few quotes in this chapter. If you haven't watched it already, I highly recommend it._

 _ **Cliffhangers –**_ _Cliffhangers should not be used, in tv OR books, to keep the audience interested. They are acceptable and useful in theatre or film, when the cliffhanger is resolved before the end of the play or in the next act, but leaving your audience on edge like this for the sole purpose of having them come back is cruel and unusual punishment. It is also cheap and more often than not it gets overused._

 _This cliffhanger is here for reasons of comedy, not unnecessary drama. It is here so when the next chapter comes out, one can just push the button and read it immediately. When that happens, I will remove these few paragraphs. For the benefit of those who are reading these as they come out, I have two things to say:_

 _One: While the experience will be significant for him, this has not killed the Keeper or caused him harm._

 _Two: Next chapter will come out very soon. I will not leave you hanging like this. I also have another Interlude sketched out._

* * *

 **Afterword**

 _I will stubbornly resist making any jokes about my continued presence amongst the living. I will however share a peculiar feeling which those of you who have published themselves might recognize, the concept of which was as unknown to me as it is utterly bizarre._

 _In the months since the last update I have sat down repeatedly to write down the next chapter. I have repeatedly done something else instead. I have continued to write stuff, to expand my notes, to think about where I want this story to go and how to get there, yet I have shied away from actually committing. I like this story. I like writing this story. To this day I do not understand this reluctance. All I can think of is that by making this official I have placed myself under some sort of subconscious stress that I seek to avoid. Which, as I said, my conscious analytical mind finds utterly bizarre…_

 _Enough of the whining, however._

 _The story is not on hiatus and it will continue. If anything, the last few months have given me enough time to think about the Keeper's progression, his future enemies and hardships and where I want him to end up eventually. I have jokes for O'Neill, I have space in here for the Asgard, I have space for Anubis, even the Ancients will make an appearance, but this is all far in the future – though honestly, as a Stargate story, this was under an obligation to do something with all of them anyway, wasn't it._

 _I will strive to not let 6 months gaps become the norm, eventually I hope I can settle on one chapter a month plus the occasional second, with a few Interludes here and there. That said, I am grateful for each and every one of you who has not un-faved me after this long. Your loyalty is much appreciated._

 _Lord Asmodeus – I feel the show could have used more Goa'uld POVs. And there are not enough Goa'uld centric stories out there either. Damn shame._

 _TyrothDarkstorm – Personally I don't like Apophis. That got to the point where I got a weird tingling sensation when I first saw the actor in another series but didn't immediately recognize him. I do like Sokar though…_

 _Yinko – Believe it or not, there is a reason for the anti-magic..._

 _jjlol – I like that idea. I might just hotwire and steal it._


	10. Itld - The Warlock that was promised

**Interlude – The Warlock that was promised**

A Goa'uld pyramid ship, the ultimate symbol of power of the parasitic race that had discovered religion many millennia ago, was a mighty as it was expensive. Massing at several hundred thousand tons even before fuelled with ultra dense fuel grade Naquadah, Ha'taks required an immense amount of man hours to construct. For every ton of precious ore unearthed, a hundred slaves had to work relentlessly for weeks, first in mines, then in purification plants, finally in refineries. For every load delivered to their divine overlords, a dozen workers died in the primitive open pit mines, the endless shafts driven into mountains or the maze like tunnels dug so deep underground that slaves weary of the continuous torture that was their life could easily choose their demise to be of any form. Be it to drown in the water constantly seeping into the mines, stand in the way of a collapsing tunnel, or simply to allow themselves to perish in the heat of those subterranean hells.

And that was just the start.

Naquadah was too heavy to construct a spaceship entirely from it and while some of its other properties would make the concept attractive regardless, there simply wasn't enough of the material to go around. And so, for every mighty vessel to rise, ready to carry the wrath of the gods to the non believers, thousands of loads of iron, nickel, copper, cobalt, chrome, not to forget plated gold for embellishments had to be collected, processed and refined. Exotic chemicals and complicated concoctions were needed to supply the crystals for the controlling computers of the ships, and when all the parts were finally ready and in one place, they still had to be assembled.

A single Ha'tak was the product of a hundred worlds, ten thousand souls and a lot of time. It was this time that limited any one fleet yard's output, put a hard limit on the growth of any fleet, if not on the size of the fleet itself. Ha'tak were hardy vessels, their design nothing short of genius and each required very little maintenance outside of the provisional supply of fuel.

Fuel – and food.

While Naquadah flowed through the vessels of the Goa'uld like blood the Jaffa crewing them required less arcane sustenance, which was in turn provided by human slaves - and had been since time immemorial. Potatoes, wheat, rice, barley, corn, a thousand types of fruits and supplementary vegetables – and meat. Lots and lots of meat. While the slaves lived, more often than not survived, on the remains of the harvest, half of it was ferried off to faraway places to still the unending hunger of the gods' mailed fists – in peaceful days. In times of war, the tithes were even higher.

The only consolation the peasants across a Goa'uld domain had was that war taxes rarely lasted for more than a single season. Jaffa didn't work. They didn't toil the fields, they didn't bake their own bread, they didn't build their own houses or sew their own clothes. In fact the closest a Jaffa ever got to field work was by owning a few human families. Gifted to him by his god for exemplary services, those would do it for him on lands provided by his patron.

As a direct consequence, when war came, Jaffa didn't have to be pulled away from their houses and fields. The amount of mouths to feed didn't suddenly increase, no extra workload was shifted on the slaves, quite the opposite. When war came, Jaffa tended to die and in far greater numbers than the slaves supporting them. So yes, the first winter of every war was usually tough, but the second would be cause for celebration as taxes went back to barely manageable rather than painful levels and with the old and infirm dead to the hardship that had just ended, the communities would enjoy a surplus of food for a time. It was customary to hold a great feast in those years, both to wish a the swift end to the war and to honour those that would not live to see it, a custom that had developed independently over the centuries across most of Goa'uld controlled space. Independently and without the usual cultural spread evident in human cultures on Earth, as the gods didn't fancy their slaves travelling overtly.

This year however seemed to be the exception of the rule. The world of Kaela had long since forgotten the date of its birth. Settled almost ten thousand years ago, during the very first waves of Goa'uld forced colonization by Mighty Ra himself, even that illustrious fact had long since faded from living memory. Writing was forbidden and any form of record keeping carried an automatic death sentence outside of the very small bureaucracy supporting the occupation. Thus even the oldest of legends dated back less than a thousand years. Most of them weren't terribly interesting either. Sure, there was the occasional tale of sea monsters sinking grain shipments in the narrow sea, of angry but ultimately impotent spirits conjuring up storms to spite the gods or to annoy the faithful, but a farming society was not the most fertile of soils for such things. In its ten thousand years of history, life had been incredibly dull on Kaela for the most part, much to the delight of the resident farmers.

This had ended a month ago, however.

* * *

 **Farming Colony Kaela, City of Mensha, Realm of Amun-Ra**

"I do not care if the crops are fully grown yet or not, Peasant. You will obey or I will have you flogged for however long it takes your people to refill our stocks."  
"Mylord Jaffa, please, we have just send our tribute to the gods, surely they will see fit to return some of it shortly to supply your warriors..." The Jaffa's primary answer was to backhand him across the face.

"My warriors are hungry now, farmer. Turnips and leaves are fit for animals and slaves, real men require meat. Although I will admit, your potatoes make a welcome addition to a stew. Honestly, with how starved half of your people are looking, I am surprised I have to tell you this..."

Jaffa Master Me'rel, apparently thirsty from this little bit of education, stepped towards the table to pour himself some mead. They hadn't been used to that particular beverage either but quickly confiscated whatever quantities they could find anyway. Meanwhile all that Kain could do was bite his lips as he got back up again, ready for more abuse, always more abuse. 3 out of 4 sacks of grain taken as tithe instead of 2 from last fall's harvest. The same again this summer. Even if the city's storehouses hadn't been running dangerously low already when the gods had seen fit to drop this legion of Jaffa into his lap without supplies, these chow hounds would have emptied them by now anyway. Just as they had emptied any batch of forest within four days of walk of anything that could be hunted – whether it could be eaten after the fact or not. Kain had a feeling, if and when the Jaffa's supplies finally arrived, they wouldn't be sharing those with the workers either. Now he was demanding they harvest their last fields before the time, which would reduce the amount drastically. And this arrogant, bloodthirsty, hoggish pig had the gall…

"Ah, well, I have to give it to you, this honey wine is something else at least. It has quite grown on me, actually…"

Before any more could come of those thoughts and desperation turned to treason), Kain was saved, though he would later come to question the validity of that assessment, by the loudest noise he had ever heard. It rolled over his house like thunder, shaking the walls and driving the very air from his lungs. In sudden fear Kain fell to his knees. When he recovered, the Jaffa master was nowhere to be seen, though Kain could hear him shouting orders outside. Downing the Jaffa's abandoned mug of mead to steady his nerves and still his racing heart, Kain then hastened upstairs, then up the ladder to the attic. He could still hear the Jaffa barking orders from up here, could see his warriors streaming out of house entrances and alleyways and towards the Chappa'ai – where a large, fiery cloud, not unlike a mushroom in shape now rose towards the skies

"Sun above, what just happened?"

Kain could still hear rumbling from the plaza in the centre of the city, could see the closest buildings burning, could see flashes of light flying from the cloud like sparks. He knew he had to hurry back down, had to alert the fire brigade, had to do so many things. But Kain had never, in his life of farming, of organizing and of dodging Jaffa, never seen a spectacle like this. The very smoke seemed to be on fire as the cloud dispersed, revealing houses smashed as if by a giant's fist. Burning debris was leaving trails of red and black across the sky, there was shouting, and while he could not actually see it, some part of him was sure that there was fighting. He could see however, now that the smoke thinned, that the plaza was full of men in armour, wielding staff weapons and a purple standard he could not identify.

"Father! Father are you here?" he heard the voice of his son calling to him from below. Shaken at last from his reverie, Kain burst into action.

"Father, thank the gods you are all right." He should be angry at the boy, Kain realized. The only way he could be here so fast was if he had been on one of his fools errands again, shirking work for one of his fancies again. But he could not bring himself to scorn him, not now, not today. Instead, father and son embraced.

"Father, we need to go! The city is burning, we need to call together as many as we can."

"No, son, I am afraid not. The fire is not our biggest problem today."

"What are you… what have you seen, Father?"

"Go, run! Tell everyone you see and tell them to tell everyone they see. Stay away from the Jaffa, stay away from anyone with a staff and by the gods stay away from the Ring! Only the oldest of stories spoke of the anger of the demi gods and even those never mentioned a fire like the one he had seen.

"Tell them, if they see anyone holding a staff weapon, they are to turn around and run as fast as they can. Run to the outskirts of the city and hide. And tell everyone!

We are under attack!"

* * *

He had done as his father had commanded. Told everyone to run. Told everyone, against his better judgement, to leave whatever they were doing and hide. Abandon their houses to the fire.

Not everyone had listened of course. There was a lot of stone used on the construction especially of the older houses, closet to the city centre, but fires were still devastating. He had broken up three bucket chains so far, told his friends and neighbours to run, to abandon to the flames what amounted to all they had ever owned.

It went against the grain and not all had heeded his fathers advice when put against their own judgement. Still, most had listened. And now his task was done. The ones he had told would tell others, the word would spread, leaving him free to indulge in his curiosity. What had his father so spooked, so scared that he would abandon the city? What could possibly be more dangerous than a fire that, if left unchecked, could very well consume every last building inside the walls?

So he ducked from house to house, from alley to alley, hiding wherever he saw someone running by. He could smell the fire now. The burning wood and smouldering thatch, the biting clouds of smoke. And something else. Something that made his hair stand on end. Something that deep down made him retch and yet at the same time kindled fond memories of crusty, roasted bacon.

Closer now. He could hear Jaffa barking orders, could hear the sound of their weapons as he sat down and concentrated to make out what was being said. The stream of words suddenly turned to a scream, then ended. He shuddered. This was probably close enough.

Quickly he made his way upstairs ,then spend a minute searching for the ladder leading up to the attic before he realized he wouldn't need it. The southern windows faced the sun-plaza, with the Chappa'ai at the centre. The houses that should have been blocking the view were…. No longer there. He gripped the windowsill as a sudden rush of fear claimed him. Now he understood. Now he knew what was worse than fire.

The plaza was scorched, the coloured cobblestone mosaic covered with soot and ash and bodies, both alive and… dying. Men in armour were everywhere. Flame staffs barking again and again. He could see a barricade manned by Jaffa fending off attackers, could see another being torn apart by a fusillade of sun bolts. A formation of Jaffa was storming towards the Ring of the Gods, the first row mowing down in close combat what the second couldn't pick off from a distance. He watched in rapt attention as the warriors of Amun-Ra cut down whoever was foolish enough to face them, all insults against the farmers of the city forgotten. Gone were the gluttons his father could never find a kind word for, gone the bullies and the free loaders.

These were the warriors of legend, the demigods blessed by the sun, charged with the protection of the realm and the welfare of His children. As they fought across this field of slaughter, he had nothing but admiration for them.

But it wasn't the Ring of the Gods they were charging, he realized. And a second later he realized that it wasn't glorious or heroic either, as a weapon of much greater power than the staffs spoke in anger towards Amun-Ra's chosen. From a raised pedestal next to the Ring, a dragon roared, bathing the plaza in its fiery breath, or so it seemed. Blinking the stars from his eyes, he focussed on the pedestal before the weapon spoke again. A larger version of the staff, it seemed, perched atop 4 night black protrusions, rising from the ground like claws. As he watched, a miniature sun was born, held aloft in between them, then rose – and a stream of solar fire burst forth from the weapon, to scorch a line through the plaza and the Jaffa formation alike. It did not care for the men caught in its path, did not care for demigods or armour. Warriors were cut in half, thrown around like rag dolls or set on fire like kindling and he finally understood. Over there, on the other side of the plaza, warriors streamed into the city, past broken bodies and the burning remnants of a barricade. More to the left, another pedestal was being raised, another weapon was being assembled. He understood, as the weapon burned another half dozen Jaffa. This was an action of last resort. The charge was born not from heroism – but desperation.

Another stream of death, another group of warriors dead or dying. He felt his fingers dig deeper into the wooden frame as he watched a now one armed warrior pick himself up, rip off his burning shirt and charge after his comrades, knife drawn and howling an inhuman battle-cry as he raced to catch up with them.

Their task seemed impossible. Surely they would all be cut down to a man before reaching the pedestal. But then the weapon stilled, the warrior manning it ducking behind it as bolts of righteous flame sought to cut him down. He could not see what the man was doing from here. Was the weapon broken? But the magic of the gods never failed….

His hope proved premature as the warrior reappeared, aimed and fired again only seconds later, adding another black scar to the battlefield. But this time, his god's favour was apparently no longer with him. Finally, one of the bolts the Jaffa were hurling at him struck true and he fell backwards, almost in slow motion, his arms wide, his chest and skull a burning ruin.

He whooped at the sight and saw the charging Jaffa redouble their efforts. Already another warrior scrambled up the pedestal, but every second the weapon remained silent was another five meters less for the Jaffa to traverse.

He found himself rooting for them as they ran, as they fought and bled across the plaza. Forgotten the curses his father had heaped upon them. Gone the resentment of all the nights he went to bed hungry as the demigods feasted. Here and now they were fighting, bleeding and dying to protect the city and by extension him and his family and his friends.

And then they were upon the weapon. Staff fire and knives made shirt work of the defenders, the one armed Jaffa from before pulling down the enemy gunner and then a Jaffa took his place upon the pedestal. A great cheer swept across the battlefield as the weapon swivelled to the side and the second pedestal ceased to be in a fiery explosion that took out every enemy warrior close by. Houses all around the plaza seemed to disgorge additional Jaffa at the sight of this victory and despite the constant stream of reinforcements flowing through the Ring of the Gods, the Jaffa began to push back the enemy, the commandeered weapon now levelled at the ring, sending invaders diving for cover with every beam of concentrated sunlight.

But then the weapon fell silent again. He could see the Jaffa manning it aiming, then hitting the weapon and would later swear he could hear him cursing it, before in a macabre repeat of what had come before, he was struck by a bolt himself and tumbled off the pedestal, trailing smoke and blood.

But the chaos continued regardless. The Jaffa could not make use of the weapon, but they could deny its use to their enemy. Across the plaza, hundreds pushed and fought, front lines mingled and mixed together into one. He recalled his father's advice, to "run from anyone carrying a staff weapon". It made good sense now. Just minutes before he would have been unable to tell friend from foe, with all of them wielding the same weapons and armour. Even the helmets. But now he began to see the differences. The warriors of Amun-Ra had their Ram helmets of course, and most of the ones guarding the barricades made good use of them, but the majority of the Jaffa below seemed to eschew taking on the likeness of their god. Weapons wise, they had their iconic staffs and the lightning snakes he had once seen used in practice, and every warrior wielded a knife.

Which was where the differences began already. The invaders wielded knives as well, wicked, serrated things that on a glance looked like they needed straightening out. They too fired bolts of sunfire from their staffs and lightning from the smaller weapons, they too occasionally used the ram Helmets of Amun-Ra, which had at first confused him. But on their chest was painted in black a symbol he had not seen before, a creature of some sort, maybe, squatting, with long spiked limbs and a set of horns. All Children learned the symbols of the gods, the All Seeing Eye of Ra, the Eagle of his son Heru'ur, the Raven of Morrigan and the bare skull of Kali. But he could not place this one.

His attention then wandered to the Ring, which up until this point had disgorged an unending stream of enemies unto the field. A stream that had now run dry, the sudden emptiness amidst all the chaos drawing his eyes to it. For moments nothing happened, the glowing, undulating magic of the gods filling the metal ring overlooking the great battle like the Eye of Ra himself – then five warriors stepped through, the likes of which he had never seen.

Hunched over they stood, their arms dangling and almost strafing the ground with every step they took. Clad in black, spikes protruding from their shoulders and their spines, he wondered whether they were truly men or some manner of beast, when the five suddenly decided to reinforce his impression of the latter. As one they howled words in a language that left his ears in pain upon hearing them, and with a noise not meant to be heard by mortal men, what little of their skin that wasn't covered in armour erupted in blue light. With a bestial battle cry they burst into movement, and he noted how the enemy Jaffa almost climbed over each other to get out of their way. Faster and faster they surged, charging at the Jaffa, several of whom recognized them as a more immeditae threat and aimed their staffs at the man beasts exclusively. Dozens of bolts were loosened at each of them in waves, several struck true on each, yet all but one charged on. Only the fifth in line, struck to a leg stumbled in his path, fell to the ground and howled, more in frustration than in pain, before he scrambled to stand back up again, seemingly unharmed.

Meanwhile his comrades crashed into the lines of the Jaffa, parting them like a horde of oxen would part a herd of sheep, and he saw now that the marked warriors had been right to fear these creatures. The clash saw Jaffa impaled on shoulder spikes, armour and all, then shrugged off like water droplets. Punches send Defenders flying, warriors cried out in pain as their limbs were rend from their bodies and one of the man beasts tore into a Jaffa with nought but his teeth.

The fifth had apparently left his battle frenzy on the ground, as he merely stepped forward, bolts still impacting on and around him, spraying him with stone splints and melting off parts of his armour. Unperturbed, he raised both arms at the Jaffa, his tattoos glowing almost painfully bright as lightning burst from his hands.

In horror he watched as a score of the valiant defenders fell before the creature, the blue arcs of power gouging blacked scars into ground, armour and flesh as they played over all that stood in is path.

At least it proved that the creatures could be killed, for one of them was caught in the deadly fusillade, the lightning cooking him inside his carapace as he collapsed screaming and convulsing right next to the Jaffa he had eviscerated just moments earlier.

The storm bringer himself fell just moments later, three oversized sun bolts piercing his torso, ending his killing spree in a shower of black and red and bluish fire. At long last the Jaffa had brought their own god weapons to bear and large explosions blossomed in the ranks of the enemy, disrupting the newly invigorated stream emerging from the portal. The three remaining man beasts halted in their slaughter for a moment, as if listening to an unheard voice for orders. By now they had carved a grisly path through all who had dared stand against them, their very steps staining the ground red with the lifeblood of the slain, the maimed and the disembowelled. The Jaffa for their part had quickly learned to stay out of their arms' reach and, steadily yielding ground, had peppered them with staff fire. By now the three survivors were in a sorry state, one missing an arm, another had lost all his armour spikes, though he had prolly broken those off in the bodies of his unfortunate victims. The Jaffa surrounding them now backed away even further, to allow their cannons to visit the same wrath upon those three as they had upon their brother, but the monstrosities were not about to give them the chance. Their contemplations finished, they leaped forward into the now massed defenders and separated, each storming towards a single cannon emplacement at the fringes of the plaza, leaving it to the black marked warriors to advance in their wake and take advantage of the horror they had wrought.

So enraptured was he by the battle that he did not notice how the floor was trembling under his feet, how the very house was slowly shaking like a young tree in a breeze. During the chaos, more than one cannon bolt had gone awry and the number of stray staff blasts numbered in the tens of thousands by now, most of them had been caught by one building or another. And so it was only when the floor gave way under him that he realized he had long overstayed his welcome. He remembered clawing impotently at the crumbling window frame, then everything went dark.

* * *

His next waking memory took its time to arrive, leaving him to delirious dreams of black clad monstrosities. Shrugging off the purifying rays of the sun, they reached for him, eyes burning with blue, runes of power engraved upon their armour. One caught him as he ran, pressed him to the ground with crushing weight and whispered into his ears words he could not understand. Strange words he had never heard, that none the less kindled memories that were not his own. The blue fire that burned in their skin and eyes promising – what exactly? Longing began to grow in his mind. He could not understand these strange words, could not remember, could not even hear them properly, but oh, how he wanted to.

Then, an immense weight was lifted from his chest, relieving him of a pain he had not known he felt. He heard the growling of what could have been a dog before strong hands lifted him up into blinding light and back into reality. Blinking, he stumbled forward, only stopping to collapse back to the ground with his very first step, his right leg screaming with the pain of being broken in many more pieces than a leg had any right to be. Again he was lifted up, this time a strong shoulder appeared for him to lean on. He wanted to ask so many questions.

"How am I still alive?"

"How did he battle go?" and, most importantly along those lines of thought:

"Did we win?"

But deep down he knew the answers to most of them. His heart was just waiting for his rambling mind to calm down. He was, after all hobbling towards the Chappa'ai, not his father's house. And next to the great ring, the standard of the invaders stood, singed but proud, the same weird animal the warriors had displayed on their chests, black on purple ground, the cloth framed with gold. It really was squatting, his ramshackle mind noticed, the clawed forelegs spread wide, the head resembling one of the amphibious creatures that frequented the lakes…

Around him, going by the soot and the smoke that hang heavy in the air, the city was still burning and all over the place a steady stream of, well, everything was headed the same direction as he. Carts filled with food, the wounded and, bizarrely, corpses, with cattle, men women and children following behind, all disappeared through the Ring. No one was carrying much, he noticed.

He himself was being led to one such cart, where a man with a scribe's tablet waited for him, a man he had never seen before.

"Wounded?" he was asked, but the man supporting him answered for him.

"Leg's in tatters and he's pretty out of it. We dug him out of a ruin. Hit his head, maybe."

Yes, maybe. He felt like he was walking on clouds. And he refused to look down, at his leg, for fear of what he might see.

"Well, on the cart he goes, then. Oh wait, here you hold this first. Both hands."

He was handed a milky white spherical stone. Patterns were carved into it deep and criss-crossed with night black and silver inlays. He held his hands open before him and the man dropped the stone into them. He noticed that the faint glow of the sphere stopped the moment the scribe let go of it. But when he himself caught the sphere…

"Oh, wow..."

"It's never done that before, has it?"

"Not that I remember. I mean they all shine pretty bright but even the old guy earlier didn't go this intense."

In his hands the stone burned with an inner fire that he was surprised it wasn't hurting him. So radiant, it hurt looking at it, so bright that it eclipsed the sun itself. Casting all their shadows on the ground. It pained his eyes looking into it and yet he couldn't avert them. There was something in that fire. The same thing he had seen earlier in the blue tattoos of the man beasts. The same promise, the same memories of days long past that whispered in the back of his mind. He could not let go.

"Oi! Kid! I asked you a question!"

"What? I… I'm sorry, what?"

"Yeah, well, you will be, I can tell you that for a fact. What's your name?"

"Almeric..."

"Mother?"

"Dead. Died of the fevers last year. What do you mean, I'll..."

"You're holding up the line, kid. Father?"

"Kain… Why are you asking..."

"Ah, the old man. Lucky him…"

"You have seen my father? Is he hurt?"

"Nah, he'll be all right. You, not so much, I reckon."

"Yeah, well, duh." His leg a throbbing pain, he was doing his very best at the remark, but his brain wasn't up to administering the level of snark he had wanted to infuse into the words. Who knew that getting a house dropped on you was so disorienting.

"Not what I meant, kid, not what I meant. Here, give that back." the scribe motioned for him to drop the sphere into his hand, recoiling every time Almeric tried to just give it to him. So he just let go of it. The scribe caught it with practiced movements, then tucked his tablet under an arm and moved past the two of them. As Almeric was half heaved and half pulled into the waiting cart, he had the presence of mind to ask his former strong pair of shoulders the question instead.

"What _did_ he mean?"

The man showed a pained smile.

"After what you did to the stone? Sorry, boy, really am. You just earned yourself an audience with a demon."

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 ** _It has to be said…_**

 ** _Little Easter egg here for those of you who have actually played the second game..._**


	11. Chapter 8 - Consequences

**Chapter 8 – Consequences**

 _ **Author's note:**_

 _ **Did some shuffling around. New content this update is the Warlock-Interlude.**_

"Bring the bombards to bear on the fortifications only! Shoot any of ours and I will have you nailed to one of the walls when we leave!"

Bright yellow rays of superheated death lanced out from my positions, melting stone and scorching black lines across battered walls as the MK II finally, finally saw use on the battlefield. They couldn't track targets on their own, couldn't fire without a gunner and were nowhere near as powerful as their Goa'uld counterparts, the staff cannons the Jaffa employed as direct fire artillery. The MK II didn't fire a bolt either, I hadn't figured out how to make that gate portable quite yet, instead it basically caused a small quantity of the green liquid form of my new favourite metal to explode, contained, then shaped, then channelled the resulting plasma down the barrel to sear everything in front of it right to hell and back. The lance wasslightly cone shaped, alleviating the issue of aiming somewhat and managed to drive any surviving Jaffa ahead to hide behind their surviving crenelations, lest they report in person to their gods in the afterlife.

Unfortunately the people the cover fire was supposed to shield were currently doing the very same, suppressed by my own guns as lances swivelled wildly all over the place. I could not stand shit like this. Yes, firing the bombard was unpleasant. Yes, it made your skin crawl for a moment. No matter how proud I was regarding the fact that I had finally produced a new type of cannon fit for this new battlefield, a weapon that could burn through ten Jaffa in a line when my original one would have inconvenienced the first two if barely, I still had to concede the point that it was ultimately a rushed job and the five now on planet were very much prototypes – and of course with me discovering a way to leave my dungeon, they were now also obsolete. As it turned out, the MK II was not insulated properly for human use, something I had to change for the MK III. Every time the bombard drew power from the Mana battery to burn whatever it was pointed at to a crispy husk, a cascade rushed through the gunner. Now a Goblin gunner simply would not have cared – probably gotten off on it, actually – but apparently to a human being the sensationwas highly unsettling, evoking violent, full body shivers. I could do very well without friendly fire. Especially since this was almost over.

Here I was. Standing over the burned out corpses of a dozen Jaffa, a single of their amphibian parasites squashed under my armoured boot. The critter had tried to escape the fate of being cooked in his pouch only to meet a more abrupt and rather crushing end instead. In my hand the severed head of a Jaffa, his lifeless eyes stared wherever, I was far more interested in the silver ram head tattoo on his forehead anyway.

"Such a strange way to organize a command structure..."

There were "Firsts", there were "Seconds", there were "Thirds", presumably even "Fourths", which basically translated into "X in command". Any of these "officers" could command or take command of any normal, unseated Jaffa, and the "rank" was really more of a mark of honour or as I saw it, clever trickery. Call a burden an honour, give someone a fancy tattoo to perceive himself as something more than his peers and voilà, he was suddenly happy for the additional work he had to do now.

Strangely enough, only Firsts got special tattoos, silver as opposed to the normal greyish black. Supposedly there existed another commander class, the hallowed "First Prime", who got a tattoo made of actual gold, but what their purpose was I still had no idea. And then there was the unofficial rank of "Master", which basically signified seniority. Granted, not all old Jaffa were Masters, but so far all Masters I had seen were comparatively old. The system seemed so weird I made a mental note of trying to find ways to disrupt and exploit it. Because wouldn't that be hilarious…

Part of me continued chanting the lengthy incantation, while another part of me was driven to other contemplations at the sight of the head in my hands and the dead around me. As a Dungeon Keeper I was reasonably sure I didn't have a soul. Much like human brains were basically machines that produced a consciousness, so was the Dungeon Heart, which was the source of both my thoughts and this body. And my magic of course. Generally speaking you needed a soul do draw Mana from the nether, which had always puzzled me because – like my fellow Keepers – I simply didn't seem to have one. I had killed Dungeon Keepers before, if rarely, because the only reasons one Keeper would clash with another were ego related. Usually, on the rare occasions two Keepers met at all during their respective campaign on the same world, we would stay well out of each others hair. Worlds were large places, after all, one had to go out of ones way to get in another's way, so keeping to yourself before relocating eventually was not actually all that hard.

Still, I had studied broken dungeon hearts before and in some cases had been the reason they were broken. The design was intricate, complex. And way beyond me. I had felt like a toddler looking at a particularly beautiful clock. And like a toddler I couldn't resist poking my fingers in. It was possible there was an ethereal component. Maybe the souls of some poor sods had to be imprisoned deep inside the construct to jump-start it, mind raped for all eternity so that I could draw Mana and trample on the privilege of the living in a way no normal construct could. The hearts were constructs, that much was blatantly obvious. For whoever or whatever had made my heart to have designed me as a thinking machine didn't diminish me or my accomplishments in the least. I had never had any problems thinking of myself as an automaton.

Not until now anyway.

When the Chappa'ai had closed after my successful attempt of traversing it I had felt a tugging of sorts. If you could call it that. A more accurate description would be that the hand of an angry god had gripped me by the base of the neck and pulled me backwards though a dark tunnel. I had seen the landscape drown in the blue puddle as I was pulled through, had seen stars flashing before an immense star field in the background, felt suns almost brush my ears as they passed me by and vanished as I was manhandled along, a sensation somewhat in between flying at incredible speeds and being keelhauled. Then a last bright, blinding flash and the next thing I had to do was pick my body out of the wall of my heart chamber into which I had been catapulted, leaving a sizeable impression in the process.

I took another look at the remains of the Jaffa.

I had never bothered.

I had never doubted.

Only now I found myself asking…

What was the measure of a Dungeon Keeper?

Another salvo of plasma bolts erupted in the ground all around me, reminding me that the battle was maybe not quite so done. I shrugged off the melancholy and finished both my contemplation and the reason I had plucked this head from his shoulders in the first place. A few seconds later, with a howl that made men think of banshees, the burning skull of a dead Jaffa, now deprived of flesh as well as life, the shape of a ram on his forehead blazing with infernal light, shot towards my attackers who dropped dead one by one as it drew near them. After the last of the squad of five had fallen, the spectre, only driven by his rage now that his purpose was fulfilled, shot off into another direction sensing the nearest life force. Hopefully it would kill more Jaffa than raiders before finally burning itself out. Note to self, look into whether or not the tattoo represents strong enough of an affinity to offer advanced target finding.

Myself, I hoisted my staff again and proceeded to fire pot shots at whoever dared take a shot at me while my raiders charged the walls around me, encouraged now, ironically enough, by the lack of cover fire. I had broken into the Jaffa fortress only minutes before with a barrage of fireballs, then scoured the fortifications with arcs of lightning. Seven hells, it felt good being in the thick of it for a change… it didn't last long, of course. My task here was complete, now the raiders would do theirs while I made my way back to the portal. I had ample time left before it closed again. A little annoying, having to go back home every half hour. This had to change...

Then again, planning was for beginners. Steering and logistics were how you won a war. New support was already arriving and with the current cycle nearing its end I could maybe send some loot back to the Dungeon. Maybe even some prisoners. How many of the Jaffa manning the garrison would end up in my cells was unclear, though the number would undoubtedly be small, even with the lightning Snakes I fielded in ever increasing numbers. In a situation like this any male Jaffa would be given a weapon, even the youngest, who were then told to protect the family. The latter would probably end up in the hands of their mothers in a short order, but in general, any Jaffa. over a certain age could simply not be bothered to retreat or surrender and with their armour and the parasites healing them could be almost as hard to bring down in the service to their gods as their skeletons would be later in service to me. Those I was actually missing by now. Without the primal fear my preferred shock troops radiated, my capture rates had plunged drastically, with children, women and old folk making up the majority of them. Unfortunate. But at least there were not all that many of the latter. Jaffa males didn't generally live to old age, and both men and women who did died from Prim'ta rejection rather than from infirmity, so really I was fortunate in this regard, unlike my ongoing problems with raiders bringing home scores of old village people from every other raid. Hadn't that been fun, explaining to the commanders that no, I had no use for old geezers who could barely stand and the only old scones I was interested in were those with warts and kettles and brooms. Kids at least could be used – moulded with time or sacrificed in a pinch – but what by all the Dark Gods was I supposed to do with old people?

The question wasn't even rhetorical. Dark elves didn't grow old. At all. Neither did Goblins, albeit for wholly different reasons, the oldest I had ever seen had been ten. Trolls, I had no idea, they all looked the same to me and while yes, most warlocks were pretty old, they were also so pumped chock full of magic that they could still pull their weight when mortality had reduced them to sinew and bones. The average warlock died of a myriad different causes, ranging from fizzled, miscast, sabotaged or in fact aimed spell to the face over fatal miscalculation in one of a million arcane hobbies up to being eaten by demons for maybe a thousand different reasons, none of them being old age. The funniest of it all was that quite a few managed to snuff themselves while trying to engineer true immortality.

Bottom line, despite my ambitions of breeding a new magic master race, I had never actually fought a campaign that had lasted longer than twenty years and whoever had felt he had earned enough gold to retire in my services during that time had simply and quietly left said service. I was intellectually aware of the concept of "pensions" but I never had to deal with it myself so far. The very real problem in this regard, as Malek had pointed out to me, was that conquering the galaxy was likely going to take quite a while and if I simply turned any old people into dog food or fertilizer, the young might loose heart eventually. It was frustrating, but he probably had a point, he usually did in these things. Still, I really didn't want to waste resources on arthritic minions. Maybe I could deport them somewhere? I pondered this on my way back to the ring, where one man stood by, keeping a stick immersed in the puddle of the ring, so as to prevent it from closing before the time. Just in case. There was no way I was going through that experience ever again.

* * *

 **Aton, Palace of Amun-Ra**

The position of First Prime to a System Lord came with a number of privileges. Some of which were very well worth enduring this, Chak'n had to remind himself as the minor god Ren-Etet had not one but two slaves deposit both a number of script-tablets and what seemed to be a venerable mountain of paper on his desk.

"Press your hand here, First Prime, yes, like that. Thank you very much..." The insufferable godling smiled, turned around and left without so much as a greeting, or a care whether or not his two servants were actually trailing behind him. The hatred Chak'n felt for this man could not possibly be described on paper, even if he himself seemed to be able to put very much everything in writing – if only to drop it on Chak'n afterwards.

Paperwork. That had somehow been omitted from the glorious tales about First Primes serving their gods his father had always told him. Accompany your god as he explores strange new worlds, in his name seek out and conquer new life and new civilizations and boldly go where no Jaffa has gone before. But no one had ever mentioned the most dreaded of battles would be fought with stone and stylus…

Chak'n sat down and began working through the backlog that had build up. Somehow it always managed to build up these days. He had a creeping suspicion that Ren-Etet went out of his way to increase the amount of whatever was to end up on his desk just to annoy him but had been unable to prove it so far. Undeniably though, there was enough here to warrant his attention. The lady Amaunet had taken a vacation – again – taking half her household troops with her, which necessitated additional troops to be deployed to her main palace-world of Naucratis to replace them, however temporarily. Unusual and annoying, because by now, Chak'n was running out of garrisons that actual had a surplus of troops to redeploy. The war had gone hot after Hasara, what had been border skirmishes and fringe-world pouching before had now grown into full out incursions into his Lord's space. Fleets were now operating along the borders with orders to shoot first, ask questions to the survivors, worlds were being taken and taken back and the majority of the army was constantly on the move, either to reconquer worlds recently lost or to avoid having fire rain upon them from the skies.

Ha'tak were fast, incredibly so, but the more he got involved in the logistics of things, the more Chak'n had realized that really – they weren't anywhere near fast enough. A Ha'tak would need to spend three years in hyperspace in order to go from one end of the galaxy to the other. Of course no one would ever try and do something as crazy as that, it just served to illustrate the limits of the formidable craft. Some said it illustrated the limits of those that had designed the craft, but that would be heresy, so it was only ever done very quietly. Still, even moving a vessel from one end of his Lord's domain to the other would take a month at full speed, and the voyage from one system to the next could still take days. Then there was the abyss in between the star-arms, where you couldn't even stop at a world to take on food and empty out the recyclers, because there weren't any. Woe betide any garrison that would get stuck behind those kind of resupply lines…

By now, the first waves of the attacks had come to rest. Battle lines were about to be drawn and Chak'n was the one holding the pen. Around every conquered world he had to check the neighbouring systems. If they were to close, the current margin for that being the distance a Ha'tak would be able totraverse in three days time, then any garrisons had to be evacuated for fear of losing them to a raid. Ships had to be relocated to shield the new garrison worlds from orbital bombardment and fleets had to be informed that certain harbours were no longer safe. Raiding forces had to be dispatched to drive out enemies not supported by Ha'tak. Al'kesh strikes had to be timed with Jaffa ground attacks through the Rings. The list went on…

The constant troop movements didn't help his supply situation either and neither did the constant clerical errors that just kept popping up in half of the documents nowadays. It was as if half the scribes had just decided not to do their jobs properly anymore – all at the same time. Chak'n hated paperwork, he would have much preferred being out there kicking something, but how was he supposed to keep an empire together when the ones giving him the damn paper weren't doing their jobs? He had had Naquadah turn up on Khasut instead of field rations, Per-Amun had reported that the 25 crates of Zat'nik'tels they had requested had arrived but contained dead fish instead and he wasn't exactly sure whether half of these notes of grievance were even true. For all he knew, Ren-Etet was just spending his off-time making them all up. And if it wasn't him, then someone else was doing it. And this was just the military side of things, who knew what matters were like for the farming or mining worlds actually supplying the resources. The sheer amount of stuff that flowed everywhere in Lord Amun-Ra's domain, be it Naquadah or rice, crystals or chemicals, weapons or manure – it boggled the mind. It wasn't inconceivable that an entire army could just slip through the cracks and be forgotten in the current chaos. If his own papers were any indication, the System Lords besieging them might very well be just one of their problems.

"If this is another attack on us, it is the most insidious of them all..." and he dropped the current tablet in disgust after reading it for the third time, just to be sure. Apparently, a Jaffa Master by the name of Kree was requesting a replacement for his position because he was thinking about getting killed three days from now. Whoever was writing these fakes was getting cocky, to be sure and he didn't know what to do against it. The last rounds of random executions among the staff had caught one of the saboteurs, he was reasonably sure but it had overall done more harm than good.

Chak'n stood up and stretched, popping his joints back into position with a groan, then went to take a look at the hologram of the realm, floating in the small map room next to his study. There were more tablets here, but at least these were ordered, because he was the one who was using them and he liked to keep their number to a minimum. After updating the projection with a few more reports, Chak'n scratched his chin. There was also this other thing: There were another ten incidents now. Another ten planets lost, bringing the count to just short of a hundred in the last 5 months. Like all the others, the area in the immediate vicinity of the Chappa'ai had been scoured for men and materials, any structure had been blown up or burnt down, any stocks of useful material had been stolen, even herds of cattle had been abducted along with the slaves. No survivors in any of the cases. No sign of any Jaffa either, which had worried him a great deal at first. Had it not been for the significant battle damage on every one of those worlds that had contained a garrison, he would have suspected even more desertion, but no. Someone or something had attacked those worlds, had killed or captured the Jaffa and then taken anything not nailed down – corpses included, weirdly enough.

If it had been only border worlds, he wouldn't have noticed the incidents, would have chalked them up to the normal up and down of war instead. But they weren't. All over his Lord's realm, worlds were randomly disappearing, wiped from the map.

It just made no sense, this was not how Goa'uld operated. This procedure of… of scorched earth didn't benefit them if they wanted to conquer the planet later anyway and why go to such lengths to destroy a fringe world in the first place? There was no shortage of slaves, relocating some from another world took days at best, having them rebuild their hovels took some more days. A mining world would take a while to get back to its usual output of minerals, sure, but settlements of a few hundred or even thousand slaves didn't produce all that much of whatever it was the world was producing in the first place. There was a reason Ra hadn't protected any of them with shields or even garrisons. They simply were not worth it. Ten thousand fringe worlds would equal ten thousand shields, which would probably eat up the Naquadah faster than those worlds could provide it. And again, why bother? Fringe worlds were only precious in large numbers. He took up one of the tablets and the corresponding turning stone and scanned the affected worlds again. In all cases, several hundred to a few thousand slaves had been taken. The Chappa'ai functioned as the de facto capital of the more densely populated worlds, so that had caused some inconvenience as their trade center had been disrupted, but no real damage was done. He was not in charge of rebuilding those, but he was aware of the tactical situation and thus knew that slaves could be relocated from surrounding settlements easily. Within days, the goods would flow again, with hardly any harm done.

Still, this had to stop. Whoever was responsible for this was extremely careful, to the point where Chak'n had absolutely no idea who they were – or where from they got their intel. You didn't just dial seven symbols at random and hope to come out on a world of your enemy. That was a game children would play on a dare, not a viable strategy for a campaign. 100 worlds in half a year, probably more because most fringe worlds were not in constant contact with the rest of the realm. Someone had to have told them the addresses of all those.

But how could he stop this? He didn't have the troops to garrison even a fraction of the fringe worlds, no System Lord had, even if the number Amun-Ra laid claim to was still bigger by a very large margin than that of any other god. Petition for more shield generators? No, probably a bad idea. His Lord was still sore from Gheb ruining his ascendance to Supreme System Lord. Requests were not a good idea at the moment. He had a number of training regiments that he could station on certain worlds that possessed a higher value, they could train there as well as anywhere else and better green troops than none. How was that for a drop in the ocean… then again, maybe that wasn't the way he should try to solve this problem? If you were trapped in the dark, lighting the forest on fire would solve your problem but it was not the most elegant way of doing it when all you really needed was a torch. Garrisons had been overwhelmed before, so he really couldn't guard the planets under his protection anyway, but really, he didn't need to in the first place. He just needed to know who he was fighting here, where they were coming from. One or two Jaffa could accomplish that. Hide in the forests, spy on any incoming force, record the symbols when they were leaving. Chak'n grinned. That could actually work, couldn't it? And it wouldn't cost him valuable resources. Break up one of the battered legions, add some older warriors to them who his Lord was now drafting back into service in greater and greater numbers anyway…

This could, no it would work. Soon the Eye of Amun-Ra would shine light into this mystery…

* * *

 **Bahal central Dungeon**

"What do you mean 'We won't get volunteers for this?' "

Truth be told, I was a little annoyed already. What could very well have been a near death experience earlier today had not left me with a lot of goodwill remaining for this.

"I am paying your people, Malek, I am paying them for one single reason, that being you telling me paying them money when I need something done is more reliable than scaring them into doing it. To do whatever I tell them to do. Now I need someone to die, so what is the problem?" The scribe practically wilted under my glare.

"Begging your pardon, Keeper, but gold is not much of a temptation if it does not come with the chance to spend it."

I had to let that pass through my mind a few times, trying to make sense of it. Because for some reason, while Malek certainly seemed to think so, it just didn't seem to make any… Falling back on old habits I compared the situation to past experiences, full well knowing by now that those would probably be insufficient to explain this. Could you pay a Goblin for something like this? Well, yes and no. While every now and again Goblin blood had been the only blood available for the task, I usually preferred other sources. I distinctly remembered placing a pot of gold in front of a Goblin elder – that was to say, a five or six year old who was slightly better at bashing his fellow gnarling and thus in charge – and less than an hour later, a gaggle of bound and slightly beat up Goblins had been delivered to the ritual chamber. Asking a Dark Elf to see to it that a sacrifice would be ready in time usually resulted in someone turning up bound and gagged as well. Usually not a Dark Elf, though. I was aware of course that no one wanted to be the actual individual drained of lifeblood, with the exception of some cultist, one of those could always be counted on to volunteer. But surely there existed enough animosities in between my minions for them to solve this conundrum. Or could it be they had not realized yet that the one being paid was only expected to deliver the sacrifice? Seemed to me clarification was in order. After all, while the sacrifice didn't need to be virginal after all, a sacrifice was needed to revive my one Vampire, and Malek's suggestion that not one of my Minions would likely be forthcoming seemed to me to be a very clear sign of insubordination – or maybe it was just confusion. Something had to be done about that either way.

"If I may, Keeper, the salary you provide is generous, they all appreciate that. No one has died of hunger or lost a child to malnutrition since entering your service, it is one of the most convincing reasons to become your minion, actually. Usually the mere mention of this is enough to convince new arrivals you will make a better master than the Goa'uld. But the reason they work hard for you is so they can take the gold home and spend it."

"So what you're saying is I should be paying them less so they are broke when I need them to be? I distinctly remember you having an input when I set the wages, and this is not what you said back then..."

"It still isn't! My apologies, Keeper, but the gold is necessary, as you yourself surmised. When a man hungers, he desires food. He cannot function without, but once he is fed, he will yearn for other things. Under the Goa'uld, we bartered for what we wanted, but in your domain the gold is the means to achieve those. For the first time in living memory, my people can decide what to do with their earnings. For the first time their work earns them a surplus they can spend on something other than pure survival. I have never seen people work so hard before, even under the whip of the Jaffa. The coins you pay them serve as a measure of motivation that the... Goa'uld... were never able to instil in them."

"Yes, so you said. Have them drive themselves forward by offering money versus having them driven by an outside force. I can see how the latter will only result in the bare minimum of work being done. Greed on the other hand is a powerful motivator. What you neglected to mention is that they would get so greedy they stopped following orders. So, how to stop this….. More motivation, more willingness to serve? Or maybe remind them that the outside force was not entirely off the table?" I was trading gold for work already, could hardly blame them for a mercenary mindset… Just raising, the wages would probably not lead to anything, in fact some less might be better in this case. And motivation I could do…

"I will have to think about this. For now, I will just take one of the new arrivals." Mentally I was already directing a few Imps to grab one that seemed healthy enough. Sacrificing a minion had its charms, for one they were already attuned to me, but I wasn't really lacking in candidates.

"Actually, Keeper, I was hoping to talk to you about that. The citadels…." He trailed off as I directed my gaze back at him. What was this now? Shrinking back into his shell it took him a few seconds to muster his thoughts again.

"Keeper… the citadels… they are horrid places..." I couldn't quite comprehend what was happening right now and so I just stared while he struggled to continue. Something was wrong about this situation.

"The raid battalions keep bringing in new people. Half of them have nothing to do, and we just can't keep up integrating them into the workforce. There are expecting mothers and orphans among them that have no one to protect them..."

"Protect them? There is nothing here they need protection from? The ring is secure, no incursion has ever made it past the armoured doors..." And even if one did eventually, they would have a hell of a time fighting their way through a panicked mob. There was a reason I had put the complex of citadels in between the Ring and the Dungeon proper, and the hundred kilometre walk to my heart was enough to cool down any minds outraged by this policy, should the mob prevail and turn rebel.

Plus I already knew the correct ratio of hatcheries and farms needed to keep a citadel supplied. Malnutrition could do nasty things to your forces, as could over feeding them. What was he getting at?

"It is not the Jaffa, Keeper, it is the inhabitants themselves. The citadels are the worst slums I have ever seen. There are groups in there by now enforcing their own rules, creating their own realms. Protection rackets, theft, in some ways even enslavement. One of the reasons the latest raid battalion was so eager to set out was because armed combat against Jaffa is still better than staying in that place for even one more day." If that was true, it was indeed a nice side effect.

"Malek, you are beginning to confuse me. The citadels harden people up, they always do. And didn't you just tell me I needed to motivate your people more?" I was growing tired of this...

"Well… it's not.. exactly..."

"Enough! I have more important things to do than this. See to your duties. Organize the citadels if you can. If it improves the way the dungeon runs, I will take a closer look at it..."

After Malek had hurried out of the study, I made my way to the ritual chamber, where the sacrifice awaited me, already bound to the altar. There were still so many things only I could do. Resurrecting Urden would have been an easy task for even an apprentice Warlock, and the amount of my time I had to devote to making more Mana batteries was beginning to get on my nerves. As Malek had said, currently the workforce was stretched to the limit, if the workshops were to take on any more apprentices, half of them would just spend their time standing around looking bored. And while this last batch of new recruits had proven promising in the mystical department, I simply hadn't had the time to investigate them yet. How was it that one batch out of dozens was suddenly able to rival an enchanted mouse for magical power while all the others couldn't even do that?

And then of course there was the small matter of ammunition. The bombards could finally do work and in the next weeks I would revisit some of the worlds that so far had been deemed to dangerous to pay proper attention to. But every shot still needed Mana and while the possession spell allowed me to carry batteries through the gate now, portable ones didn't have a lot of charge, five shots worth at best. I had already gone back to the drawing board, changing the MK II slightly to take the strain of activation off my gunners, but this would still relegate me to pack mule. I needed to find a better way to project power through the ring or I would spend the beginning stages of every conquest from now on out carrying batteries around. Not to mention that even those relatively small artefacts weighed quite a bit. The raiders would need carts to carry them along and would need to be trained in replacing them in the field. These new bombards were rapidly becoming more of a pain than I had ever imagined.

Following a sudden inspiration, I made my way to the next library instead. As soon as he was back on his feet, Urden needed to learn how to blink. If possession was possible through the Chappa'ai, then maybe so was short range teleportation. If not, I would lose my one and only Vampire, but by now I was willing to risk that if success meant I would be spared the triviality of lugging around what amounted to be shells. And if it really did work, then creating one or two more vampires would be well worth it just to facilitate logistics. Picking up the corresponding spell book from the shelves I spend a minute observing the young human currently focussed on a spiritual exercise, before storming off to the ritual chamber. I had thousands of minions by now. And a single one had been worth teaching magic. A single one! What was wrong with this Galaxy?

* * *

Watching the Keeper as he left the room, two wispy creatures of an entirely different nature communed silently, their conversation imperceptible to what they liked to call "mortal" senses.

"This is getting out of hand..."

"He is serving his purpose. We are learning a lot from him."

"Yes, but where will this end? He is this close to breaking containment. He is teaching the mortals – despite our efforts! If this one can learn, then so can others."

"So what? You're not seriously suggesting he can actually wage war on the universe, are you? The arrogance of this creature hasn't dimmed with time… Do not worry yourself. He is one more mortal with delusions of godhood. Nothing new..." As a ripple went through the ethereal form in the equivalent of a shrug, one of the apparitions disappeared, shifting to another plane of existence. The other continued to observe.

"Except this one can actually DO magic…"

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

 **It has to be said**

 _ **Ren-Etet**_ _– from egypt. Renenet, Goddess of fortune and prosperity, here more of a clerk – does not appear in Stargate canon._

* * *

 **After word**

 _ **mrttao**_ _– Because "broken" in this case means "his mind is lying on the floor in so many pieces that it will take him the better half of the next decade to puzzle it back together without professional help – which he is unlikely to get – while in the meantime he has to be shackled to the wall in his straight jacket while he sits in his cell, giggling to himself and trying to bite the hand that feeds him". Physical torture is not at all a useful tool to recruit for your army. Unless you have Dark Mistresses, which the keeper does not – yet._

 _In regards to recruiting Jaffa that would be willing to be recruited – he simply likes Skeletons better._


End file.
